


Run

by Fasnacht



Series: The Tattoo Trilogy [1]
Category: The Phantom Stallion Series - Terri Farley
Genre: Ableism, Adult Content, Childhood Friends, Christianity, Depression, Disability, Extended Families, F/M, Families of Choice, Friends to Lovers, Head Injury, Horseback Riding, Major Character Injury, Medical Trauma, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Romance, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, TBI, Tattoos, Theology, Therapy, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 350,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2581301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fasnacht/pseuds/Fasnacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam says in book 1 that Wyatt won an argument about moving to San Francisco because she was 11 when she was hurt. What if she'd been 16? What if Jake had done what we all wished he'd been able to do at the time? Run attempts to answer those questions, and deal with an interpretation of the possible medical consequences. Songfic. Angst like woah to start. This is the 'director's cut' and is, as such, more mature than the same work found on FFN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run

_There's a shortcut to the highway out of town_

_Why don't you take it?_

_Don't let that speed limit slow you down, g_ _o on and break it._

_Baby run, cut a path across the blue skies_

_Straight in a straight line, y_ _ou can't get here fast enough._

_Find a truck and fire it up, l_ _ean on the gas and off the clutch_

_Leave Dallas in the dust_

_I need you in a rush_

_So baby run_

- _Run_ , George Strait

The sun was mocking him, again. The morning dawned terrifyingly bright, contrasting what he knew the world to be like, now. The sun taunted him. It made a bleak world bright. He wanted to scream at it, blot it out, make it stop. He could barely breathe, barely blink. The bale in his hands was warm, even through his gloves. It burned his icy skin. The sun was his enemy. It rose without thought to anything Jake might want, or anything he might need. It rose, proving that he had made it through another night. He prayed the sun wouldn't rise. And yet, it did, without fail. It couldn't even be modest about it. There wasn't a single cloud, by way of apology, in the sky. 

Jake just wanted to be alone. It didn't feel right to be around people. He needed to be alone. People always wanted to talk about it, pretend they understood, pretend they knew what it was like to be in his shoes. Those people attempted to pat his shoulder, and nodded, like they got it. They acted like they wanted to understand more, when really, all they wanted were details, to exploit his misery for their own benefit, so they could feel involved in something they knew nothing about. They knew nothing. 

Worse yet were the people who were so cheerful that he wanted to punch them, so as to force them to feel a fraction of what he felt and ask them how they could smile, then. Would they be man enough, then, when he couldn't be? Those people made him angry, whereas the nosey idiots made him sick. They threw around words like silver linings, and optimistic, and time healing all wounds, and finally, he'd stormed out of the room after one time too many. He felt like the one person who could possibly understand, had shut him out.

What was he to say?

He simply repeated, "Leave me alone." over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer, hoping that the emotions swirling inside him would heed his words. Other people heard him, but he wasn't just talking to them. 

His father had just nodded and left him to moving bales. There were more important things to do, but mindless work had its advantages. A thought came to him as the old radio began to play a song after a commercial break. The song began as he was moving the bales of hay, and he realized as he was lifting one bale that he had had enough. He paused, dropping the bale with a heavy thump as the twine slipped from his gloves, as he realized another two things.

His gaze flew to his faithful blue Scout, and his hand flew to his pocket, feeling his wallet with his driver's lisece tucked inside.

His gaze flew to the ten acre, and then to the radio that was playing into the yard.

He felt like he was spinning. 

In a moment of breathless certainty, Jake knew what he had to do. George Strait was right, even as the song made him want to shut off the radio and scream. Each note hit him like a punch. It made his throat feel raw, and the heart that hurt so badly beat in double time. Sam loved George Strait, blasting his music all their lives, during dinners he now couldn't eat, whispering lyrics during timeless moments on the porch swing that Jake couldn't even look at, let alone touch. 

The song brought back so memories. He could hear her screaming, "Come back, Jake! Don't run away!" She had called after him so often, with laughing eyes and bouncing braids unavailing, and he had run from her as often as he had allowed her to catch up. The ghosts ran around him, and he swore he heard her voice float by him. 

The ghosts from his childhood swirled, bringing back moments that he remembered with every bit of his soul, making him feel light headed as years of memories faded, only to leave him cold, cold in the bright sun of summer in Nevada.

With that chill came new memories, one that haunted him, no matter how fast he tried to fend it off. He could hear Sam screaming again, screaming in pain, screaming his name, as though he could help her, save her. It chilled his blood, turned his heart inside out, as he stood, frozen. Jake would have given anything, anything, to do that, and he couldn't. No, his mind corrected viciously, he  _hadn't_.

He still wondered, what if he had done things differently? Would she be here? Would his world be normal? He had no real way of knowing if she was truly safe, truly happy. He had failed the one person God had given him. He had failed her, and in failing her, he had failed everything that mattered.

He had no way of truly knowing how much she felt, or what was going through her mind about it, if anything. Jake was so tired of this limbo, this unknown, that caused him to hate everyone and everything half of the time, and withdraw into his soul the other half. Tears he tried to hide sprang to his eyes.

He was so tired of crying. People expected him to not cry. He knew they could see the redness of his eyes, see the cracked skin of his lips, but...he tried so hard to hide it. He had no right to cry. Sometimes, he just wanted to crawl inside himself, and never come out, never. Witch was the only person who seemed to understand his sadness, and sometimes, he talked to her, but mostly, when he could come up with something to express, it was a simple prayer, as if by calling on God, he would understand.

God, he prayed, God. _God. No. No._ Not again.His mind was no longer his own. There was blood. So much blood. It was on his hands, on his arms. He heard a chopper on the breeze. Jake tried to breathe. He barely stopped himself from screaming as he inhaled. He could not live this again, in the daylight, as he lived it again, night after night. 

Rhe moments he hid in the dark of night, when he sobbed, reaching out to touch her only to wake and find her gone, were his punishment. The screaming echoed again in his mind, hers that led to his. He knew that his whole family knew, but every time someone had come to shake him away, or tried to hug him, he'd reacted poorly. Finally, after seeing the fatigue in Quinn's eyes at one in the morning, and the concern on his parents faces, he'd grabbed his pillow and roamed three doors down the hall, to the guest room that had somehow become Sam's over the years. Some of her myriad of 4-H ribbons were above the dresser, a horse poster was pasted above the bed, and the sheets also had horses on them.

When he climbed into her bed, he could smell the faint traces of Mane n' Tail underneath the mint conditioner she used. He sobbed himself to sleep, that night, again, after he'd begged God for some sign, some help, something, anything, as he tortured himself with her fading sent. That scent soon became the only thing that kept him going. 

One day, though, it was gone, completely. He had prayed for death that night, begged God that if he'd had any Mercy, He would get Jake out of the hell his life had become. He prayed for his own death. The next morning, he had stood in the barn, and fleetingly thought about an option he'd never really considered. Then, he'd seen the look on his mother's face. He knew that she knew exactly what he had been thinking as he'd stared at the gun safe, and he swallowed. He'd knew that he would not have the strength to do it. So he prayed for a sign that would give him strength. 

The song, he realized, was his sign. He'd prayed for one, something to get him through, some way of making the world seem less like the living hell it had become. The song had provided it.Jake's stomach rolled. A bird called, shrilly, and forced his mind back to the present. He blew out a breath, looked down at the bale, looked at his shaking hands, looked at his truck, and back again.

He'd made up his mind. With that, he walked inside, ignoring the bale, uncaring that his father would get him for it, escaping the desert heat to speak to his mother.

"Mom," he began softly, his voice rusty from disuse, mind elsewhere, "You heard from Sam today?"

His mother looked up from the lesson plans she was making and blinked knowingly, "No, but..." she continued, "it's only ten here. Sleep is good medicine, honey." He tensed. Why was she telling him things he knew, better than she did? Why did that happen so much, now? She added, "She needs sleep, and so do you."

Jake knew this, even as he couldn't look at his mother, who was sitting in Sam's chair. He'd pulled that into the kitchen, barely resisting the urge to throw it off the porch and watch the wood splinter into shards, being that he couldn't eat, not if her chair was there, empty, mocking the hollow spot in his life. And yet, his mother continued to try and act like she knew best, like nothing had happened, like it was okay to sit in Sam's chair. Mom knew that was her chair, that it had been for years, since Sam had put stickers all over the spokes, and Mom had handed them a can of goo-b-gone, and told them to have at it. The residue had never quite faded completely. What if Sam came home, only to find her chair was being sat in? He heaved a breath at the thought, know it was impossible, and shifted slightly, anger at the woman who had given him life spinning in his chest, peppering his taste buds.

It wasn't as if his mother had nightmares that kept her awake, or night terrors that left him to wake in abject horror, reaching out, never quite making contact with the woman his dream. The dreams started out so peacefully, like a Norman Rockwell print. Sam would be there, and then, they're be peace, only for fleeting moments, when suddenly, the color would fade, and his dreams would turn black as night. He was so tired of waking up, screaming her name, tasting salt from tears and blood from where he'd bitten his lip. Since Wyatt had sent Sam to San Fransisco to recover after her accident not two months ago, Jake had slept very little, and spoken even less, except when he spoke to Sam.

He didn't give a flying fuck about anything anyone had to say. Darrell came around, but after a few hours of sitting in silence, he'd left, too. His attempts at humor had fallen flat, and Jake had tried, but ended up staring at the wall. Jen had been around, too, sometimes, though their company was stilted because Sam wasn't there. She left, too, murmuring something softly as he'd flinched away from her touch. So he didn't talk to them, if he could help it. He had nothing to say, to anyone. 

But Sam needed him to talk, needed to hear him. So he would talk to her, trying to hide the strain in his voice that he couldn't tramp away, when he heard the pain in her voice, the weakness that dulled the steel in her tones. Mostly, when he called her at the rehab center, he'd read to her, the literature crossing the miles. They were in no position to discuss anything, but his high school diploma proved he could read, and so he did. He read all the novels they'd ever talked about, ignoring the anger that speared through him when he read about the happiness of fake people, when real ones were suffering like Sam was, and the crushing sorrow that ripped through him at the slightest turn of phrase.

_If you've watched as the heart of a child breaks in two,_   
_Then you've seen a picture of me without you._

_Me Without You_ , George Jones

Max looked at her son, a pale shadow of the man he'd been becoming. Her heart was breaking for each of them. When he went back to college in the fall for his second year, she knew that people would wonder if he'd taken up drinking or drugs. In fact, the opposite was true. Every high had gone out of his life, every bright spot, and Max felt sorrow. She'd not realized how much, to what degree, Sam and Jake were enmeshed, and she felt a loss, because she knew, somehow, that Sam was the most important person in her son's life. Maybe, she always had been. Who knew, thinking back, that she'd only had three years to be the center of her son's world? But such thoughts were silly, she knew, because Sam was the daughter she'd never had. Sam filled a part of Max's heart that none of her sons had ever touched, and she bled inside for her little girl. Max knew Sam and Jake were giving off misery like the radio was playing music. It came off them in waves, pulses like light and radio waves, and there was nothing anyone could do.

Jake didn't know his mother was thinking any of this. He figured, in his own mind, that he was hiding his pain well. "Mom, uh." He glanced at the door, clearing his throat, trying to talk around was huge frog that had moved in weeks ago, "I'm going out. Don't worry if you don't hear from me for a bit." Jake was determined.

"Sure!" Max toned it down though she was jumping up down inside at some semblance of normalcy returning to her son's life, "Oh, of course. Have fun. Going to see Darrell?" If there was one thing Max liked Darrell for, it was his ability to make her son laugh. He needed to laugh. Jake needed to cry, too, but he hadn't done that since the night Luke had been forced to tell him that Sam wasn't coming home. After a moment of absolute stillness, Max still remembered the look that had crossed Jake's expressive eyes, and in that second, she realized that the light had gone out of them. It went out suddenly, like a candle behind them had been blown out. After a moment, he'd inhaled, like it physically hurt him to do so, and tried to speak, but fell silent, unable to find the words. After another second, his face had crumpled.

Then, and it hurt Max to think of these moments, Jake had cried, violent sobs wracking his frame, and smashed a hole in a wall, bloodying his fist in the process. Quinn had been the one to wrap his arms around his younger brother as he'd cried, the unbreakable bonds of brotherhood coming to the fore, promising his brother it would be okay, as though Jake was upset about something Quin could fix. Quinn had hugged him, letting blood and snot dry on his clothes, half hugging Jake, half holding him down as he cried himself hoarse, begging his brother to be let up, let go.

No one had said anything about the damage, knowing his reaction could have been worse. In fact, Luke had expected worse, to be honest, and had taken Jake's keys, both to the car and to the gunsafe. He had refused to take Jake's saddle, though Max had pushed for it. It was pointless. Jake didn't need one to ride, though its absence from the rack would have made Max feel better. Luke hesitated, saying there was a fine line between protecting their son, who was a grown man, and destroying his trust in them. Max had thrown her hands in the air, screaming that his trust made no difference at this point.

Couldn't Luke see, she'd begged at the time, that their son, their baby, was literally fading away in front of them? A puff of wind would blow him over, she'd asserted, thinking of his rapidly diminishing strength. She'd asked if they should get him help, but even she knew that he was grieving a loss so profound, she would never be able to understand it. Luke had swallowed, hard, but stood firm, even as she sobbed in his arms. In the end, it made no difference, and for that, Max was glad. No one was sure what he'd do, if he'd go after the horse, drive off, or do something much worse. When Max had gone to check on him in the morning, the wall had been patched, and Jake refused to talk about it.

From then on Jake thrown himself with listless abandon into work at Three Ponies. He'd refused to go to River Bend, and no one had the heart to force it. He spoke occasionally to Jen, but did even less socialization than before the accident. Jake was closing in on himself, his soul huddling around its torment, as though it would make his world normal again.

Max's train of thought ended, and she began to reply to Jake, but he had already gone up the stairs. Max was just glad to see that he was finally moving around. She knew he missed Sam, but Wyatt could not be swayed. Things were as they had to be, and the two friends whose lives were so melded, were kept apart, though Luke had paid the increasing phone bills with only a smile that held too much pain.

_Searchin' for shelter again and again_

_Against the wind_

_A little something against the wind_

_I found myself seeking shelter against the wind_

_Against the Wind_ , Bob Seger

In his room, Jake tried to be decisive. He moved to his closet, and pulled down his duffel bag from the shelf, shoving aside some records and a picture frame of a photo he couldn't bear to look at. The photo tumbled to the floor of his closet, and he bent to pick it up, sighing, fighting the thrum of nausea that rolled through him when he saw its contents. He opened the duffel bag after a second of standing in silence, and dumped his track stuff on the bed, hating that he could run. He moved to his dresser and grabbed some clean laundry. In the bag, he he threw several shirts and jeans, as if by some imaginary force. He moved quickly to his bathroom, the one he no longer had to share with three of his brothers, and took his toothbrush, and whatever he might need from the vanity, even though why he was doing this wasn't even clear. His heart was pounding, but he was calm as five books made their way into his bag. He spun around in his room, with one last look and snatched up his pillow and a book, and jammed them into the top of the bag, pulling the zipper with a air of finality. His mind was made up. He picked up his cell phone, slipped it into his pocket along with his wallet, and left the house through the front door, avoiding his mother in the kitchen.

Out in his Scout, Jake turned on the radio, found some Bob Seger, and pointed his truck West.

Thinking back, he recalled the day Wyatt had informed his parents that Sam would be staying in San Fransisco. The task of passing this information to Jake had fallen to them. At the time, Jake had not slept in days. He woke up crying more times than he could count. He hated being around people, hated the sympathy, the pity. He hated the judgement, the assumptions about the situation. He hated that people would ask him for details, while others pretended nothing had happened. He saw the looks, knew what people must think, but he didn't care. All he knew was that he could barely eck through a day, let alone a night.

A few weeks ago, maybe two, maybe three, he couldn't recall, the days were endless and meaningless anymore, he'd come home after a long day of feeling Sam's empty spots in their world, their life together. His food had remained untouched at breakfast and lunch, and so he'd come to the house to eat something, mostly so Mom would stop bugging him about it, and because he'd started seeing spots in front of his eyes as he rode Witch. He couldn't go to River Bend anymore, no matter how many times Wyatt called and asked. After a time, he stopped calling, and Jake felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at that. Just riding in the direction of River Bend made him angry, because he kept expecting to see Sam somewhere along the way. He heard her voice everywhere, but he stopped short as he came inside that day. His father had been inside, a rare occurence. His stomach had dropped instantly. This scene, or one like it, had played out in his nightmares for weeks. He knew what was coming, even as he spoke.

"Dad?" He was scared. Something had happened. He could feel it building inside of him, the fear, the utter helplessness. His mind thought the worst, as it did every second of every day. She had died, something had gone wrong with her heart, or her lungs, and she...She had died. Died. And there was nothing to do, nothing to stop it.

"Jake. Let's go for a ride." Luke offered.

"If...there's something wrong, just tell me." Jake dropped into a seat, bonelessly, with a thud that reverberated in his memory. "What happened?"

"Wyatt stopped by." Luke directed a look of compassion at his son, as he spoke softly, "Sammy is going to be staying in San Fransisco, with Susan."

His thoughts could go no further into that awful day or in the days that followed, because his mind revolted and a semi was trying to pass his faithful Scout. Jake had broken out into a sweat while lost in his mind, so he rolled down the window, hoping the wind would stop the flutter of his stomach. Jake then turned the radio station, settling on The Dixie Chicks, not his usual fare at all, and continued to drive. Natalie Maines' singing blended into other songs, some he loved, some he hated because she loved them, and one in particular that made him spin the dial with fervor, settling on Jim Morrison rather than Axl Rose's breakout hit, which made his heart beat quickly, and he was glad to listen to The Doors. The Doors didn't make him miss her. Bruce Springsteen did, though, because she loved The Boss, loved to listen him as they sped over the curves of the desert roads in the dark of the night, talking about everything and nothing, watching the wild horses, and knowing that in their souls, together, they were as free as the horses.

His mind fell into the monotony of driving out I-80, trying to avoid thinking about what he was preparing to do. The landscape passed him by, and he stopped for gas, knowing that he was hitting the final part of driving all those miles down the state. Getting back on the interstate, his heart raced as he saw signs. Each one pushed him closer and closer to his destination.

_Someday girl I don't know when_

_We're gonna get to that place_

_Where we really wanna go_

_And we'll walk in the sun_

_But till then tramps like us_

_Baby, we were born to run_

_Oh Honey, tramps like us,_

_Baby we were born to Run_

_Born to Run_ , Bruce Springsteen

 


	2. If You're Going to San Francisco

_You just better start sniffin' your own_ _rank subjugation, Jack, `_

_cause it's just you_ _against your tattered libido, the bank and t_ _he mortician, forever man,_

_and it wouldn't_ _be luck if you could get out of life alive_

_-Knockin on Heaven's Door_ , Guns N' Roses

Jake's palms were sweating and his skin was clammy. The daylight had shifted, and it was now early evening in a generally nondescript urban neighborhood. Still, he felt uneasy, and he wasn't sure if that was because cities themself made him ill, or if it was this street, this city, and what he was about to do that made him so very sick to his stomach. Jake glanced up the block as a mother pushed a jogging stroller past him. She glanced at him, warily, as though wondering what a man in a t-shirt and a cowboy hat was doing in her neighborhood, sitting in a truck that hadn't been produced since 1980. She looked away, after a second of looking him over. It was then that Jake noticed that she had green eyes. His stomach rolled as a moment of hurt sliced through him, and he nearly wondered why she had eyes like that, when her's could never compare. They were celery colored, not mossy.

He paused, pulling his duffel bag from the back seat, and throwing the strap over his body, he unzipped the small front pocket to put the keys away. Jake ran his hand tiredly over his worn face, knowing that this was going to go well, or horribly. There was no help for it now. He shut off the Scout, sitting in silence for a moment.

Axl Rose's words were replaced by the sounds of a city he didn't know, a place he wanted to be more than anything, even as his mind told him this would all be for naught. He knew he could wait no longer, and so he prepared to get out, unsure as to what to do. He looked at his hands, and noticed without analysis that they still shook. When would his hands stop shaking? Self-loathing ripped through him. Jake slammed his fist, as hard as he could, onto the steering wheel, glad for a second that the fog lifted enough for him to feel pain, to hurt in a way that made sense. There was a reason his hand hurt, one that made sense, one that would ease. He didn't know what to do with the other pain, the pain that made no sense to him, still.

He had driven all this way, to this one doorstep, without one thought as to what he might say. What could he say? He shoved the slip of paper with a faded address written on it back into his wallet once he stood on the sidewalk. He'd checked the address and driven around the block once, making sure, almost afraid, even after he'd come this far. The creak of the door shutting on the Scout mingled with the sounds of the city that bustled around him. After crossing a set of trolley tracks, and nearly tripping over a pothole, Jake approached the door of a small, but cute, home with red shutters and grey paint. He could do this. He hoped. He had no choice. To turn away now was unthinkable, unconscionable.

Steeling his spine, Jake knocked, and inhaled. There was a moment of nothingness. A woman who looked eerily like the one person he missed most opened the door, with a soft swish. He could see a tiny entry behind her, followed by a living room. His head began to spin in time with his stomach.

"Hello?" She asked confidently, pausing suddenly when she saw who it was, standing on her doorstep in worn boots, work jeans, and a t-shirt. Sue stammered. "Oh. Uh, Jake, isn't it?" Sue blurted. She knew who he was. She had seen him, met him, known of him, all of his life. She was the one who had practically forced him and Sam to make up after a fight, with her badly cooked pasta and her blatant innuendos. 

"Yes ma'am. Jake Ely. I need to..I came to..." He couldn't finish. How was he to tell her anything when he didn't know himself? What did he need to do? There was a moment of hesitation between them.

Sue looked at him with sadness in her eyes. Then, understanding dawned, comprehension bloomed, and she nodded slowly. 

"Right. Come in." She stepped back, allowing him entry. "The room to the left. I won't bother asking you to remove your shoes." Sue smiled at him as his gaze flicked over her white carpets. "Sam told me about that breach of the cowboy code the day she came home." Sue's voice held a note of humor underneath the sadness evident there, but she sobered. "Are you sure? She's not well, honey, and I don't want either of you upset."

Jake just strode towards Sam's door, back a hallway, as though her question had insulted him. Sue decided as she watched him walk away that he probably thought it was an insult. Sue spoke quietly. "Hope this goes okay..."

_The longer I stand here, th_ _e louder the silence_

_I know that you're gone but sometimes I swear that I hear y_ _our voice when the wind blows_

_So I talk to the shadows, h_ _oping you might be listening 'cos I want you to know_

_It's so loud inside my head w_ _ith words that I should have said_

_And as I drown in my regrets, I_ _can't take back the words I never said_

_I never said..._

_Words,_  Skylar Grey

Jake paused as he stood in the open doorway. There, sitting in the big chair next to a hospital bed that was angled away from the door, was Sam. Blood rushed from his head to his feet and back again so quickly that he felt it move as he studied the room before him. He couldn't really see her, but he knew, and he liked to think that he could feel her, there.The bed was facing the big window and blocked most of his view of her, but even from the door, he could see that Sam had lost at least 30 pounds of her previously normal weight. He was no good at estimating women's bodies, even at school, he'd never thought to look at them, never wanted to, but he knew in his soul that Sam was different. He could tell, right down to the smallest change, somehow.

He hadn't been expecting it, and the folly of his innocent suppositions hit him like a lance. His mind screamed that this was his fault even as another part of his mind, his soul, drank in her existence like a drunk man shaking out the last bits of liquor from a bottle. She looked slight, like paper and glass, in the large chair, tiny in a way that he could not fathom. Jake felt the urge to gather her up, slam the door shut, shut out the world, until she was better, until he could breathe, and feel her against him like he had for every single day of his life.

It hit him that in 16 years, this was the end of the longest separation they'd ever faced. In that doorway, he swore to God, deep within his heart, that there would never again be such a long stretch of time again. Never again, he promised himself, would there be a day that did not start and end with her. The facts of their educations could go hang for all he cared, as he'd come home two weekends a month over the last year of school. It wasn't enough, it hadn't been enough then, and it would never be enough now. He knew that another separation would kill him, now that he felt some semblance of life within himself. How had he not realized how colorless his life had been? Was it really so pathetic to admit that life sucked without her? What did it mean?

They certainly weren't in love, like his idiot roommate insisted, but he'd be lying if he didn't admit that he knew he loved her. There was a line, he was certain, that separated the two. After all, hadn't he loved her since he was three and Aunt Lou had placed a pillow on his lap and put Sam on the pillow? That love hadn't really changed, it just had intensified. He still felt completed when he looked at her, still felt this horrible urge to hug her and never let go, not until he felt safe again.

Jake didn't put much stock in the metaphysical, but even he knew he could feel her energy. It was sad, almost withdrawn. That fact killed him, as the last time he'd seen her, she'd been coming out of a medically induced coma, her vision blurry, her speech slurred. They hadn't spoken that day, but he'd stayed on the computer until she fell asleep and the nurse shut him down. Heck, he'd sat there for another three hours, hearing her unassisted breath in his ears, even over the miles and poor webcams that distorted them.

The days had been so long, without her. They had been hell, simply because he knew that he had no clue what she was really doing, thinking, feeling. While normally he acted like he didn't really care, he didn't have to pretend one way or another, because he knew that she was up to her normal life. He could normally read her like a book, and on the occasions he couldn't, she was generally all too willing to fill him in, to keep him in her world. Now, nothing was normal anymore. Nothing was normal, safe, happy. Now, he had all of these questions, and no answers. He had to find some.

"Brat?" He whispered, a tendril of joy spreading up from his toes. The last time he'd said that word, he'd woken up, it wrenching from his chapped lips as he bolted awake, covered in sweat. Last time, it had been a shout, a plea, a scream, and not the question that it was now. 

Her head turned. "Wh-What?" She had a startled look on her face. That look conveyed far more than her halting, forced word had. They had always been able to communicate nonverbally, and he hoped she understood what he could not say. She had no idea why he was here. He came over to where she was sitting and sank down in front of her, barely resisting the urge to pull away her quilt and hug her.

"Brat." His word was filled with emotions he couldn't name.

"Why...are you h-here?" She wouldn't meet his eyes, instead focusing on the urban environment outside the window that he knew upset her. She'd told him a thousand times over the phone, she didn't want him to come visit. Maybe he should have respected her wishes, but he'd asked himself a thousand times on the drive over here, what would she have done, in his place? 

 Jake knew, in the core of his being, that if he had been hurt, that nothing would have stood in her way from doing what she knew to be right. She had never really said why she didn't want him here, but now he got it. The answers to both his questions were clear. She didn't feel like herself, right down to her energy in the room. She was bruised, and cold to the touch, but so was he. So was he. And maybe, soon, they wouldn't be anymore. 

He placed fingers under he chin and gently guided her face until she was looking him in the eyes. "I don't know." He paused, expecting her to cut him off. She hated when he didn't know things. As a child, she would become infuriated when those words passed his lips, in such a way that made him laugh then. She would slam her hands on her tiny hips and insist that he knew whatever he didn't know, and that he was being a jerk and not telling her, and if really was her friend, he'd tell her everything.

In later years, her anger had changed, simply because he knew she'd come to realize that they were finding the answers together, creating them out of the raw materials that were their lives. And anyway, she was a know-it-all, who liked to think she knew more than he did, but he always waited, always, for her to cut him off. Jake waited a beat for her to cut him off, honoring their traditions, and noticed that the hand that was running over her skin was no longer shaking. His hands felt steady, again, and attached to his body. The whole moment was so heady, he felt like he was going to pass out.

This was, he realized, some of the most hesitant touch they'd ever shared, considering she'd spent half her childhood demanding to be carried around like the brat she was, and still it felt like there nerve endings exploding in his hand. When she merely looked at him as if to say, "oh?" he continued, knowing that what he was going to say was a game changer.

He spoke, softly, unable and unwilling to take his eyes off of hers, so Sam-like in their intensity and knowingness that he almost cried. "I don't know. This morning, I just knew...that I had to see you. I looked at the Scout, and I looked at the ranch, and I thought..." He trailed off, voice thick, unable to tell her that not a single thing mattered unless she was there to share it with him. There was no way to tell her that. It made no sense, not even to him. 

Admitting the deepest of his secrets hurt, but he owed her his honesty. She'd taken his hand, and was running her thumb over it as though she was memorizing the texture of his work roughened hand, and he nearly lost his train of thought, that was until she lightly skimmed over a fading bruise, and he realized what he could say. She knew he could be rash. "Brat. When Dad told me you were staying with Sue, I put a hole in the wall. Bashed my hand up good." He smiled sadly, flexing the hand in question, showing her the fading bruise, much like the ones on her arm, glossing over the pain that still lanced through him, trying to put it in perspective. His own misery was worthless in comparison to hers, even if she refused to talk about it over the phone. They were bruised, and broken, each in their own way. He would have done anything to be in her shoes, so she wouldn't have to be in this room. 

There was a moment of silence, heavy, expectant between them. "I don't know much, Brat." He sighed, knowing that for once in his life, he'd rather regret saying something than not saying it. He was throwing himself over, into her, for judgement, for reprisal, even as he knew that what he was about to make her angry, even though it was the truth. "I know that every day is a decade without you. I know that...I failed you once, when you needed me, and I'll have to be dead and buried before I stand by and let it happen again."

She bristled, as much as possible, given that she had practically glommed onto him, and was seated, wrapped in a blanket. "You di-did not fail me, in anything. No guilt." Her words, though forced and somehow rusty from disuse, were filled with vigor and certainty. She, in halting words, continued. "I miss you, too. Stay with me. Please."

Jake stood, after a moment, and wrapped his arms around the girl he'd missed beyond measure. He wasn't cold, anymore, and in fact, felt a tendril of warmth spreading through him. He wasn't cold, but the tears that fell onto Sam's shoulder were, as were her tears that dampened his shirt front. He whispered into her hair, "Always." No more was said, because nothing needed to be said.

 

_I don't know where I'd be without you here with me_   
_Life with you makes perfect sense_   
_You're my best friend_

_You stand by me and you believe in me like nobody ever has_   
_When my world goes crazy, you're right there to save me_   
_You make me see how much I have_

_My Best Friend_ , Tim McGraw

Out in the hall, Sue was shocked, and taken aback. She'd heard the entire conversation, and felt she had just intruded in on an incredibly personal moment. She felt like a voyeur. She knew, of course, that Sam and Jake were friends, but she'd had no idea that her 16 year old niece was in love with Jake, nor that he returned the emotion with such intensity. What else was she to take away from the exchange?

Sam had asked Jake to be near to her, after weeks of pushing Sue away. After weeks of showing the world a stoic expression, she had finally cried. Weeks of rehab had gone by, and she'd never cried in front of Sue, if at all. She attacked her rehab process with tenacity and stubbornness, pushing herself forward as much as she'd pushed other people back. She had asked for nothing, other than privacy, and now she was asking for Jake? It almost shook her, to know that Louise wasn't here to see her little girl so obviously dealing with a woman's emotions. With a heavy heart, Sue walked to the kitchen and picked up the phone. Finding a number from the list Wyatt had given her, she dialed with trepidation.

There was no preamble to the greeting. "Sam! I'm sorry, honey, but you've missed Jake." The voice was cheery, but apologetic. She thought it sounded like Maxine, but she wasn't sure, they visited so rarely.

Sue spoke, "This is actually Sam's aunt, Susan. To whom am I speaking?" She lowered her voice, hoping that her voice did not carry in the apartment. 

The voice on the other end of the line was concerned, "Oh! Hi, Sue. It's Maxine Ely. Is Sam alright?"

"As well as can be expected." Sue hedged, "I'm calling to ask you...do you know that your son drove down here today?"

Max was clearly surprised. "I beg your pardon?"

Sue rephrased. "He's currently sitting in Sam's room." Sue's mind flashed back to the scene that had been played out in Sam's room and she didn't really know what to say. Did she say what she thought? 

Max sobered, "I see. Do you know...if he plans to come home tonight?"

"Ah, judging by the conversation I overheard..." Sue floundered, "he seems to be intent on staying for a while. Which is fine with me. I don't mind having him here, at all. In fact, we could use, Sam could use, the support. But of course, I'll ship him out now if you think that's best." 

Max was hesitant. Silence pulled out between them like twine, tight, as the phone felt as heavy as as cavernous as a soup can over her ear. "I would really need to talk to both Sam and Jake about that, and Luke too, but I certainly don't see the harm in letting them be for the night. We can talk this out tomorrow, if that's fine with you."

Sue agreed. "It's pretty emotional around here right now. I think waiting a few hours might give them some perspective."

Max waited a beat, and Sue thought perhaps their connection had been cut off. "Sue, I hesitate to ask...but, how is Sam, really?"

Sue sighed, deciding to be more frank than Sam was, but not elaborate overmuch, out of respect for Sam, "Not well, Maxine. She's recovering by sheer force of will. She misses you guys, but she's lonely and withdrawn. Life is such a struggle for her. Her therapists are optimistic, but a it's tough for a 16 year old with a TBI. She's had huge setbacks, verbally and with her motor skills. Her verbal skills are improving quickly, but she can't do much physically, and she's got the headaches and all of that, too."

"Oh, Sue." There was a tremor to Maxine Ely's voice.

"She'd kill me if she knew I was telling you this." Sue confessed, trying to reign in her own emotions.

"I know." Max replied. "Have my errant son call me in the morning."

"Will do." Sue replied, blowing out a heavy breath as she hung up the phone.

 

_I get this feeling I may know you as a lover and a friend._

_But this voice keeps whispering in my other ear,_

_Tells me I may never see you again..._

_Peaceful Easy Feeling_ , The Eagles

Back in the bedroom, Jake had noticed that Sam was leaning heavily into him. "Tired, Brat?"

"I...could...sleep, y-yeah." She yawned.

He sensed she was more tired than she let on and so Jake did the only sensible thing. Jake pulled the covers down on her bed, scooped her up, without asking for permission, though she must have seen it coming in enough time to stop him as he tried to move slowly, and placed her in it. He was shocked by her fragility, the slight tensity to her body when he touched her, almost as if it hurt. He thought of asking, almost did, but she sighed, and every thought flew from his brain. As he went to pull up the covers, a hand was placed on his arm. She spoke hesitantly. "Jake..."

He hesitated out of fear. He was afraid. He had hurt her, he knew, and that fact sliced through him. "Hm?"

"Stay." She smiled wearily. "Ho-How else will I know you're here?"

Jake tried to be refuse her. What would Sue say? But at this point, he could deny her nothing. He knew he wouldn't sleep himself. The nightmares would keep him up, and at least he would be able to stay with her. He sat and pulled off his boots, and spooned her weakened body. God, she was so thin, like a newborn rabbit. 

Just weeks ago, he'd made some crack about her hips, and now he could feel the bones in them. The knife twisted in his gut, and he would have given anything to take back those silly words. Her body had always been a thing of wonder, so he was instantly sorry for his words, and in awe, because she'd survived. She'd lived, she'd lived, and he could hold her. Why was he even trying to deny that he wanted to hold her, to feel her heart beat, more than he wanted to breathe? "Just until you sleep, okay?"

She replied, sleepily, and the sound sent a bolt of joy through him. "Mm..."

Sue paused as she hung up the phone. She didn't hear voices. She might only have had a teenager in the house for a few weeks, but even she knew that was something to be investigated. What she found shook her, as much as the young man showing up at her door.

Jake and Sam were cuddled together. His face was buried in what was left of her once wild hair. Her arm was clinging to his arm that was wrapped about her. His leg was intertwined with her legs. Sam was probably more comfortable because the support took pressure of her aching back. Sue knew that Sam's back caused her a lot of pain, keeping her from being comfortable enough to sleep. Not to mention, Sue knew, even though Sam refused to talk about them, tha Sam was having some sort of nightmares. Despite that, both young people were deeply asleep.

Sighing heavily, wishing for some guidence, Sue shut the blinds and the door. A little sleep would do them good. She just worried they were in way over their heads.

 

_But what happens when karma turns right around and bites you?_

_And everything you stand for, turns on you, to spite you?_

_What happens when you become the main source of her pain?_

_When I'm Gone_ , Eminem

 

Later, Sam stirred. She blinked. She felt...warm. And safe. She was wrapped up in feelings that had been ripped away since her arrival here. Habitually, her sleep was not  haunted by the accident, but by the look on her father's face as he sent her away. That hadn't happened this time. 

He heart began to race as she felt the warmth of the cotton sheets, the slight sheet of sleep sweat on her feet, and wondered if Sue had gotten her an electric blanket. Every bit of her hurt, but she hadn't been so warm, or felt so secure in her own body, in her sense of where she was in space, that she couldn't help but feel a spark of joy.

Sam opened her eyes after they fluttered shut, her heart pounding. Someone was in her bed, an arm was wrapped around her. What was happening? Was this a nightmare, again? Jake always showed up in them, to hug her, but then they turned horrible, and she woke up screaming. Was this a lucid dream? It was then that she smelled the fresh, woodsy, smell that was uniquely her friend's, and felt his arm wrapped around her. She barely resisted the urge to let sleep slide over her again, to twist her feet more tightly into his embrace, and sleep, knowing that, somehow, he was there.

She couldn't resist whispering his name, tasting the word as it slipped past her bruised lips. "Jake...?" She winced when she heard her own voice. She wanted to cry. Why couldn't her thoughts come out without this whole mess getting in the way?

He woke up as she spoke, almost instantly. She could feel his body tense. "Sam?" He inhaled, from behind her, and his lips brushed her neck in a way that made her shiver. She hoped her hair didn't stink. He asked, sleep fading from his voice, "You okay?"

"Just...I feel..." She huffed a breath. She tried to roll over but found it impossible. She couldn't really do it, not anymore, not without help, and she felt a pang of shame. If asked, she'd pass it off as not being used to having him in her bed. Surprisingly, he seemed to know, or know not to ask, and offered silently to help her turn. They figured it out, Sam realizing that if she pushed, and he tugged a little, once they shifted the blankets, she could move onto her side. With a little help from Jake, she was staring into those mustang eyes that were her solace. She found the word she needed therein. "...warm." It wasn't what she meant to say, not at all, but somehow, the word fit.

"I know." He replied, and she felt like they were having a moment, like they always had, where she felt so understood that they didn't even need words. Sam was surprised not to be angry by his frank admission. He knew. He did know. He knew. She wasn't alone in knowing, anymore.

The only sound they made was their breathing, and the moment was timeless, and perfect. Sam was skilled enough to shove away physical pain in favor of the mental happiness she was feeling. After a second that flared bright between them, Jake continued, "You hungry?" He knew she should eat. He'd been badgering her on the phone to do so, but now that he was here, he rejoiced in the fact that he could damn well make her. Surprisingly, he found that he was hungry. He hadn't been hungry in weeks.

"N-no." She denied.

"I am." Jake admitted, with some surprise, "You can sit with me then." He sat and swung around the bed to sit up. Then, he shoved his feet into his boots, quickly tugging the laces. He should have worn his sneakers, instead of throwing them in his duffel bag. His own mother rarely saw him without shoes. His feet weren't something that Sue needed to see. He watched as Sam struggled to sit. First, she used her elbows to push straight up, but failed against the questionable give of the bed. She then turned to the right slightly, and pushed up with her left arm. It was then he noticed something.

"Brat." Jake's voice held of note of suspicion that he didn't try to hide, "Where's your brace?"

"D-ditched it. Stupid. U-useless." Her tone conveyed much, as she flopped back again, a look of fury on her face.

"Okay." He soothed quickly, "Okay. Hang on." He had no clue what he was doing as he slipped his arm around her and guided her to sitting.

Sam's soft, "Don't pull." redoubled his focus as he helped her as she sat. Her nightdress had bunched above her knees and she tugged it down as she spoke. "I think...maybe...I think I just need to sit."

His tan skin went chalky, and his stomach rolled. "Sam, are you...can you...walk okay?" It was killing him. This was his fault. It wasn't guilt that drove him to her, but responsibility. She wouldn't see the difference, but he did. He would be responsible for taking care of her, no matter what. The fact that the accident was his fault had nothing to do with why he felt the need to be the one to help her through this. The fact that the accident was his fault was something he'd accepted. He still hurt, still felt pain, but he could not accept that she was not his to care for. That's what, he realized, that's what had made his life a living hell. Not guilt over the facts of the accident, but guilt of not being supportive. That was his job. That was his role.

She smiled, one of bitterness. "Ah, not so much. It...I'm w-working on it. There's nothing wrong with my s-spinal cord, but the pain makes it...painful. Just need a few more days of practice." Tears prickled, but she shook them away from the corners of her eyes as she tried to shrug. "Well, I'm on medication. Anyway, I only have to get two steps from here." Jake wondered what she meant, but couldn't ask, as Sam rushed to action before his aching throat could find the words.

She grabbed his hand, and started to slide towards the floor intent on making her way to the solitary chair by the window. She knew she would land on her feet. The bed was tall, and she was short. But it seemed Jake wasn't too fond of her methods. Gently, he scooped her up again amid half-hearted protests and strode to the couch. She sank back into the couch as he sat gently next to her. It didn't hurt like she'd anticipated sitting on the fluffy sofa would.

He looked at her as if to say "Where's Sue?"

Just then they heard the door open and Sue walked in. She was carrying takeout from the Cantonese place down the block.

"Oh!" She stopped short when she saw the two of them sitting on the couch. "Sam, you came out of your room."

"I..didn't...have much choice." Sam huffed as she struggled to shift around. Jake handed her a pillow, and stuck another one behind her back, between her body and the tall back of the wide couch. 

Sue laughed. "I see. Well, now that you're up, we'll eat. I got takeout. I hope you like Chinese, Jake. I didn't know, so I got you some chicken something or other." She offered, "We can split what we have if you don't like it or there's always the freezer."

Jake reminded her. "I'm not picky. I have five older brothers." As if that said it all, and maybe it did.

Sam's head began to spin as Sue placed cartons on the coffee table. There was broccoli and rice for her. Sue knew meats were beyond what she could handle, given that the texture seemed off to her right now. She'd outright spat out any kind of meat she'd tried to eat, because of her sensory issues. Nevertheless, Sam tried to eat. She had to, to take the next dose of medications.

Even with the anti-nausea medication, the pain pills made her regret this choice not an hour later.

"This is so embarrassing." She shuddered, over the bowl of the sink.

_Have you ever loved someone so much, you'd give an arm for?_   
_Not the expression, no, literally give an arm for?_   
_When they know they're your heart, and you know you were their armor and you will destroy anyone who would try to harm her?_

_When I'm Gone_ , Eminem 

There was a soothing hand on her shoulder. Sue said, "It's only vomit, Sam."

"I want to die. I would rather be in pain." She doubled over the bowl as a wave of nausea hit her. "I can't even eat what I want to." Sam supposed that her body's systems were all fucked up, still. At least that's what Matrona, her roommate at rehab had told her. The doctors had confirmed it, in much less succinct language. Plus, all of the medications didn't help, and no matter how the fiddled with the doses, she often became ill. It could be worse, she figured. It had been worse.

Jake slumped, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall outside of the bathroom door. He should be the one in pain, wishing for his own death. It was their work, his stubbornness, that had caused her this pain. If he hadn't been who he was... He knew better than to have let her...everything that he'd stood for, everything he cared about him, had turned on him, turned on him, every bit of his training had failed and he...no, he couldn't think of it now. He had to deal with the present before he could deal with the accident that loomed over them. But he was helpless. Sam pushed him away when she'd started to feel sick and he hadn't been of any help since. Even cleaning up dinner had not helped him to feel useful.

Ten minutes later, Sam was standing, leaning on Sue as she shuffled back to her bed. She spared him a look, but the door shut. He was admitted to her room by a pale Sue, who exited as he entered. "I think she wants to talk to you. Don't let her upset you."

Sam looked even more haggard, even as there was steel and grit in her eyes. She spoke softly and as fluidly as her injury would allow. "Why are you here?"

"What?" He asked, floored. Why was he here? Why did magnets stick to a fridge? What?

She raised her brows. Where had she learned to do that so imperiously, he wondered. "Did my father send you?"

"No. I came by myself." He was taken aback, "You are my friend, Sam. When I got the chicken pox, you passed the time sending me silly notes."

"This is not the same." She was firm, even as he could tell she was thinking about the silly notes she'd made and shoved under the front door of Three Ponies. That had been silly and fun, even though she had gotten her own case of chicken pox three weeks later. She knew he'd be better soon.

He frowned, sitting in her chair, gaze level to hers. "Just tell me how is it different?"

"Because!" She nearly yelled, calming after a second, "It won't go away in five days. What if I'm stuck like this?" Sam confessed, he knew, her worst fear. "This is going to take a long time, Jake."

"Then...then..." His heart raced. If she never...got any better, than things would be okay, sooner or later. They'd figure it out. They'd make it work, somehow. There were ways. There was a life after this, even if it wasn't the one they'd planned. They'd be okay, together. "I get to spend my time with you. I just...don't send me away because you think..." He swallowed, begging, "Give me a shot, Brat."

"This isn't fair to you." She tried to explain.

His eyes were haunted, as he asked. "And it's fairer to you...?"

There was a knock, then, cutting her reply off. Sue spoke brightly. "Jake, I've made up the guest room for you. Towels are in the closet. I'm going to bed, but don't hurry off. Remember, your mother is expecting a call in the morning. Sam, I have work."

Four hours later, neither Sam nor Jake could find any rest. She'd called Sue twice for help rolling over. Her aunt never complained, but Sam hated it. She felt like a burden, trapped in her own body., unaware of how to make it move, where it existed in the spaces around her. It couldn't be helped though. She'd hardly slept at the rehab center, or at the very least, the issue of rolling was different in the bed there. How horrible that the bed made all the difference. Was her life really reduced to this, that these tiny variables could make all the difference to her ability to function, to survive? Finally, at the third time she sheepishly asked for help, Jake came. She wasn't expecting him as she said, to the darkness. "I'm sorry, Sue. I just...can't turn."

"I'm not Sue." Jake softly corrected, sliding a hand into hers, "Here." He lowered the bar on the bed. She looked at him, the light in the hallway casting a slight shadow of light into the room. What was he doing up so late? With a sigh, the look she shot him conveyed her request, even though she knew he could barely make it out. He didn't hesitate, not for a second. Jake wasted no time in gently sliding in next to her, and pulling half the covers his way. A second later, Sam reached out, hesitantly, and placed her head into the crook of Jake's neck, breathing in his scent. They fell asleep cuddled together. Again.

_When I feel blue in the night_

_And I need you to hold me tight_

_Whenever I want you, all I have to do is_

_Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam_

_All I Have to do is Dream_ , The Everly Brothers 


	3. Not Ready to Make Nice

_I must go on standing_

_You can't break that which isn't isn't yours, yours_

_I, oh, must go on standing_

_I'm not my own, it's not my choice_

_Be afraid of the lame, t_ _hey'll inherit your legs_

_Be afraid of the old, t_ _hey'll inherit your souls_

_Be afraid of the cold, t_ _hey'll inherit your blood_

_Apres Moi_ , Regina Spektor

 

"Oh, My sweet Lord." Jake awoke with a start to find a large woman leaning over their, _Sam's_ , bed, peering at him as though he were some sort of rattlesnake.

"Shh!" He shot the intruder a look as he began to shift out of Sam's embrace. Sam was facing him, now, and their legs and arms were intertwined. He wondered how they managed to sleep so well like this given how close they'd been and how uncomfortable the bed was. He tried to move out of the bed, quickly. Just as he gently pulled his right arm from under her and sat up, Sam stirred. Jake tensed, and sat up gently. She'd been up four times to move around, and had gotten pain pills and water at another occasion. She needed sleep.

Sam needed sleep, but it was not to be as she woke up with a bleary "Jake?"

"It's early, Brat. Sleep." His voice was tired, but it comforted Sam until she heard the drapes being pulled.

"Matter of fact, it is not early, Miss Sam." Regina corrected Jake, no humor in her normally kind voice, "You have things to do today. First off, telling me how this young man ended up in your bed."

"Regina." Sam stiffened as she turned gently, "What time is it?"

Jake found the buttons on her bed, and rose the top third slightly, unwilling to move the blankets in front of this woman. "Nearly ten." He replied, asking Sam with a quirked brow, "Who's she?" Sam yawned, and brushed a strand of hair out of her, her eyes slamming closed at the onslaught of sunlight.

Regina, never one to be ignored, spoke, "I'm Regina from the nursing agency. I'm hanging about until Miss Sam is all better so her Aunt can go to work." Her tone turned skeptical, "Who are you?"

"Jake Ely. " He was glad for the long sleeves he was wearing, the ones that went with his sleep pants. This woman, large and imposing with a wide smile, didn't seem the sort to appreciate any sort of behavior she didn't deem correct. "A friend from home."

"Honey, if I had friends like him..." She shook her head at Sam. She made a disapproving sound, "Lord above, boy. Out!"

Sam smiled and nodded at him. She was safe with this woman, then, no matter how uncomfortable she seemed. Regina spluttered when she moved the blankets. Their pajamas were a set. Sam's grey nightshirt with tiny navy dots matched the navy of his pants and the grey of his shirt. Sam calmly reached up to her shoulder and tugged the shoulder seam back in place, as it was too big on her. Her bare shoulder was once again hidden. 

It was then that Regina's confusion registered in Jake's brain. Grace had teased them growing up with coordinating outfits, and as they grew older, matching pajamas so they wouldn't run into each other as a set. At the speculative look in Regina's eyes, Jake fled to the shower down the hall.

"Now, Miss Sam..." Regina shut the door with a slight smile, "we'll get you all pretty for your young man."

Sam corrected her, "He is n-not my anything, R-regina."

"Uh-huh." The woman replied, moving to the dresser, "I tell you, darling, a lie is a lie and believing it to be true don't help it any."

In the next half hour, Regina had coaxed Sam into a shower. Sam insisted on her privacy once she was seated on the stool they insisted she needed until she relearned some of the finer points of something so elemental as standing, let alone standing in a wet, slippery shower. As she soaped her body, it occurred to her that she'd lost weight since the...No. She wouldn't go there. She simply noticed the bones in the thinner parts of her body seemed more prominent. It didn't matter much. The scars from her old port-a-cath were meaningless, as were the countless other marks, scars, and scabs littering her skin. It was what it was, and, her mind scoffed, didn't every girl want to be thin?

Her hair was another story. Nobody would want hair like hers. Although never a vain woman, Sam had loved her hair, the vibrancy of it. Her hair had always made her feel pretty, and sometimes, though she'd likely never admit it, sometimes it had made her feel pretty in a way that was decidedly sexual. All of that was no more, as when she'd woken from the coma, the long locks had been a choppy mess, with a bit shaved away from where'd they'd operated quickly to relive pressure and look for other issues. To hide her shame and the shaven part, the first thing she'd done upon her release from the rehab was have it cut. The hairdresser had called it "pixie cute" but Sam thought of it quite differently. It was lifeless, weak, brittle, and downright ugly. It was limp and lank. 

The tears came from nowhere as she reached up to feel another brittle strand pull away in her hand. It seemed all she did was cry. Well, no more. In that moment, Sam decided that she was going to cowgirl up. Even though her father had sent her to the city, you couldn't take the grit out of a girl no matter how far removed she was from her land. She would buck up. But...why was Jake here?

Why? Was he here out of guilt, because if he was, she thought, he could just go on home and take his pathetic guilt with him. And yet, she knew deep down she wanted his support, wanted his care. She'd not slept in months and was deeply asleep within moments of his arrival. She couldn't bear the idea that Jake was connected to that fact. She missed home was all. It wasn't as if she honestly felt safe next to him, not like that, anyway. He wasn't her home. No. He just..reminded her of home, of where she belonged, like no item from the house could.

"Miss Sam, you need help?" Regina was concerned, it seemed.

"Ah, no." Her life, her showers, were not her own. "I'm done." She could not have a moment alone to wallow in her own misery, her own pain. Sam shut of the water, even though it took her a long time to figure out that she had to push the knob in to turn off the shower and twist the handle to shut of the water. It wasn't like that at home.

Regina was respectful of her modesty, but it was humiliating to have someone seeing her nakedness. Regina helped her to dress, even, weak and tired as she was from the currently complex act of getting in and out of the shower stall. Now, she had to lift one foot, scoot a bit, but not too much, or she'd fall off the stool, and turn as she moved the other leg out over the lip of the shower, and pull up, feeling every ounce of her weight being thrown off balance as she did so. She just kept the mantra of "cowgirl up" alive in her mind. It got her through the humilation.

Nevertheless, cowgirling up was exhausting. She yawned as she sat on the chair in the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, at the bruises from the bloodwork, at her pitiful hair, and buried her face in her hands. Why did they have to cut her hair?

"Sam?" Regina could see the pain the girl was in, even from the doorway, and called her name softly.

"I'm fine, Regina. Let's get going." After a transfer, Sam pulled the brakes back on the wheelchair, temporary though it was. She hated it, but she'd tried to avoid using it once after a shower. She had fallen in her stubbornness, because of how weak she was and how dizzy and disoriented escaping the warm room made her feel, not to mention how unstable she'd been transitioning from tile to carpet to wood floors with damp feet. She'd rather not fall in front of Jake.

As she thought, Regina pushed her into the living room. Sam would never admit it, but her heart sped up when she couldn't find Jake. She didn't need him, she reminded herself. It just wasn't like him to disappear. That's all. Plus, San Fransisco wasn't Darton county and he needed to know that. After a second of looking around, Sam heard the stove sizzling, heard the shuffle of plates, and her heart calmed, even as her stomach rolled. She couldn't eat. There was no way.

"Well, Regina. What's the order of torture for today?" Sam deadpanned, even with the stammer.

"At least you're laughing." Regina commended her, "Today, you have physical therapy. In an hour and a half. Speech Monday."

"Goody." Came the same lifeless tone. She sighed. Who thought this grueling schedule was helpful? All she wanted to do was sleep. 

"Brat." Came a voice from the kitchen.

"Wh-what?" Sam replied, embarrassed at the look that crossed Regina's face. She'd have to explain that it was...what? Not a nickname. A pet name? Gross, Sam thought, she wasn't his dog. An endearment? No. She'd string him up by his feet if he ever called her honey, or baby, or sugar or whatever it was men called their...best friends? Right. The whole Brat thing was complicated.

"You hungry?" Damn him, Sam thought. He was doing this, wasn't he? What a jerk. He was an autocratic, stubborn, awful... Sam's eyes filled with tears. God, how she had missed him. 

"No. I'm ti-tired." And she was, deep in her bones. She was so very tired. 

"Too bad. I cooked." He was firm. "We're eating." After a beat, he added, every ounce of steel gone from his tone, "Regina, there's enough." He pulled the skillet off of the burner, and started portioning food onto plates. His back was to her, and Sam was thankful that he could not see her like this. 

"I do-don't care." Sam tried to argue. "You g'on. Eat." Jake spun around, put the plates on the table, and pushed the damper down on the toaster. 

"Sam." Jake admonished, as though that was all there was to be said. Regina seemed to agree, for the chair began moving towards the table as Regina began to chatter about how nice of him it was to cook for Miss Sam and imagine, an old lady like her. She would just have to try it. And so would Sam.

Sam was irritable at being told what to do and being moved without her permission. "You can't force me to eat, Jake. I'm not a child."

The toast popped up, and Jake put a slice on her plate. Sam did not butter it. Jake replied with a raised eyebrow. "Then don't act like it. Eat."

She ate, and watched in wonder as Jake ate, easily, four times what she did. It was probably a good thing. He looked a little worn, a little thin. Had Max stopped cooking, up home? That certainly would never be the case. Jen had told her that Jake was being quiet, but since when was that a change from the normal? Jen had sighed like Sam wasn't getting what she was trying to say, but she'd had to go, as Edye, Regina's co-worker, had come in, and told her that phone time was up, simply because she needed to make a call. While Sam normally would have stood her ground, and finished her call, she was inexplicably wary of Edye.

_You went into the kitchen cupboard g_ _ot yourself another hour_

_And gave h_ _alf of it to me_

_The Calculation_ , Regina Spektor

Jake was scared. Sam was so pale and shaken after a simple shower. She had asked Regina to turn down the light in the room, only to stammer apologies when she was told it was the sunlight. She seemed so tired, in a way that he had never seen before. He was afraid she would call his bluff and not eat. But if she didn't eat, how would she survive the sessions and therapy? It took all he had to be stern with her, when all he wanted to do was hug her and cry. Jake felt helpless. He was shaken by how heavy her fork seemed to be, how uncomfortable she was, and the disgust with which she took her pills. She refused a pain pill.

"I need to be able to feel myself. For the...tharapist." And that was that. Regina bundled her out to the sidewalk with a measure of practiced grace, and she was off. He watched her go, resisting the compulsion to follow. He was alone, left with nothing but a sink full of dishes and a phone call to make.

He knew the call had to come first, and so he dialed. There were three rings. He almost hoped no one was home.

Mom picked up the phone, "Hello?"

"Mom?" Jake asked.

"Jake." Mom replied, with some surprise,"You called."

"Sue asked me to call when I could." He replied, running his fingers over the note that asked them to call his parents and make themselves at home. Sue went on about something called polenta. Jake made eggs, instead. 

"We need to talk." She said, and he knew he was in for it. It didn't matter that he was 19, or that he was legally an adult. Mom didn't care about that. "You can't just...run off! You crossed state lines when I thought you were going into Darton or Alkali. Imagine my surprise when Sue called and told me that my honest Abe of a son was sitting in her house. Jake..."

He cut her off. "I never lied to you." He paused. "I...just...missed Sam. A lot. And her phone calls started scaring me. She wasn't sleeping, eating, her voice was so lost." Jake revealed more than he meant to about thoughts he had never voiced, never put together before. 

"You're admitting you were scared? About not not functioning?" After a beat, Mom hastened to add, "That Sam wasn't functioning well, I mean?"

"I'm still scared. Mom, she's so sick. So hurt. I never... Why couldn't this have been me? She's in so much pain. So much. And she never says. But her eyes..." His voice was thick, even as his throat was too tight to breathe.

"Baby, we understand." Max was hurting inside, because her unflappable son was in tears.

"No!" Jake would not allow his mother to become one of those people hated. He would not allow her to think that she understood anything, even if it made her feel better. He wouldn't lose his mother to that kind of malignant assumption. "You think you do. I thought I did, but I had no clue. Neither do you."

"Jake, this isn't your burden to carry." Max loved Sam, but maybe it was best, like Wyatt said, for her to be apart for a time. Jake heard what she did not say in her voice. 

"Then whose is it?" Jake demanded, "Think for a minute. _Think_. Sam and I have been Sam and I since the day she was born and now, now, you're telling me to walk away? What kind of person does...do you think you raised?"

Max noticed the pause in his sentence and was grateful for the change at the end. "Jake, what's your solution to this?" She asked.

He ran his hand through his hair, sighing. "Does there have to be one today?"

His mother replied, "It's summer. A few days can't hurt. I'll talk things over here with everyone. Maybe by the weekend."

Jake huffed. Sam needed more of him than three days. To be honest, he needed more of her. "Okay."

His mother ended the call, "I'm proud of you, Jake."

His reply, soft though it was, reduced her to tears. "It's my fault. And even if it weren't, would you do any less for someone you cared-for anybody? Bye Mom."

Max cried as Jake took his worry out on a helpless frying pan.

_Country boy, you got a lot to lose._

_Country boy, how I wish I was in your shoes._

_Country Boy_ , Johnny Cash

Sam was a schlumpy mess when Regina returned her home. She'd been quiet the whole way back to Sue's house. Regina took pity on her and assisted her to find a comfortable position on the couch, leaving her to her privacy. When Regina came into the kitchen, Jake was reading a book about natural horses or something. How could a horse be natural? Weren't they animals? Regina was so not a country girl. She was from Chicago by way of Atlanta.

She gathered, that while Susan might be something of a city dweller, that Sam was decidedly the opposite. Regina recalled the first day she'd come to work girl had been much worse off, much less stable, and all the while was begging for her horse and her friend in her sleep. When awake, she sat quietly, not rude, or angry, simply unwilling to interact with anyone she came across any more than necessary. There were clear boundaries with Sam, and while Regina respected that, it was easy to see that the girl was heartbroken. During Regina's shift, she received two phone calls, one from someone she called Jen, and the other from Jake. She'd remarked that her Grandmother sometimes called in the evening and that she didn't like green popsicles. That was all she'd said that first day. It had been seven words, seven words in a nine hour shift.

Sometimes, Regina would watch over her as she slept, infrequently as it was. The doctors, according to case notes, were worried about her lungs. In her dreams, Sam would smile and cry out the name of the boy that she now observed, only to start screaming and have to be awoken. Regina doubted that Sam knew that little fact and had been warned not to mention the situation that Sam was injured in. To tell the truth, Regina wondered if it had something to do with the young man in front of her.

She paused for a moment, unwilling to interrupt him, what with how adorable he was, with a small look of interest on his face. He reminded her of Red Thompson, back in the summer of '73. Still, she spoke, "Sam's in the living room. Maybe...you should talk to her."

Jake just nodded and went into the living room. Regina watched as Sam shifted with what little energy she had and made herself comfortable against his body. Jake helped her to shift so that she was nestled against his body, her torso resting on his much broader chest, As though it was nothing unusual, Regina thought. Jake began to read aloud from an impossibly large tome, "As an example, in the latest wave of 'natural horsemanship,' trainers use..."

Two hours later, Regina was getting ready to leave. Susan would be home within seconds. She'd had an illuminating day. After a session of therapy though would have reduced most people to jelly, Sam gritted her teeth and moved on. The girl had guts aplenty, Regina would give her that.

But that...boy! He didn't let her do anything except when Sam put her foot down. He seemed to be able to read Sam's mind, and she his. It was a bit unsettling, really, as was their quiet companionship. They seemed to be content to sit and read, glancing up at each other from time to time, Sam nodding off occasionally against his chest. They seemed abnormal for their ages. That was, of course, until they began to talk to her. Sam and Jake were nice kids as they told her of their lives, ones so unlike her own. Their circumstances had made them mature, and were continuing to do so.

_When I first met her she was only three a_ _nd I remember how she followed me._

_She was always getting in my way a_ _nd I still, yes, I still can hear her say_

_"Wait for me, wait for me, Johnny, please wait for me!_ _I love you more than I can hardly stand!_

_Wait for me, wait for me, Johnny, please wait for me!_ _I'll grow up just as fast as I can!_

_Wait for me, wait for me, wait for me, wait for me."_

_As we grew older she would always wait, s_ _he'd wait for me by the schoolyard gate._

_I would yell at her to go away..._

_Wait for Me,_ The Playmates

 

Finally, Regina could not hold her curiosity any longer. She had heard her fill about horses and ranches and things she didn't know from Adam. "So. Tell me about you."

Jake's big brown eyes met hers, after meeting Sam's for a second. "What's there to say?"

"Jake!" Sam corrected, but passed the burden onto him, "Think of something."

"Erm. I..." He faltered, and looked uncertain.

"We've always had this problem." Sam admitted, with a shared look between them that spoke volumes. "What do you want to know?"

"Huh." She mused, "What do you two do for fun, at home?"

A dark shadow crossed Sam's face, but she tried, saying, "Hey, remember that time..."

"We stole those chickens from the roadside?" Jake finished.

"Yeah." Sam grinned. When she caught Regina's expression. "Look, they weren't getting the care they needing, being abandoned and all, and it was that, or put them down. They were...lame." She frowned, her expression flipping like a light switch, "Disabled. And nobody wanted them, because of that."

Jake continued, stricken at the analogy Sam was obviously creating, "They just needed a little time and care."

"Oh." Regina finished, unsure what to say, even as her heart was heavy.

Jake, obviously seeking to get the conversation away from this depressing turn, spoke, "I'll get the book."

Sam shook her head as he left, "Jake, no..." Regina was confused, but waited, watching as Sam worried her lip.

He obviously didn't hear her as he returned momentarily presented a thick album to Regina. She opened it, only to see a scrapbook of, well, Sam and Jake, staring back at her. She turned the page, and saw more of the same. "What is this?"

"The Book." Sam said, implying the capitalization in her tone, "It was a project I started when I was 10 in a scrapbooking class I took with Gram. I kept up with it, you know, just be-because."

"Easier to show you, than tell you." Jake added. "This one, that's the time everybody went to the lake." He seemed happier than she'd ever seen him, more expressive, as they slowly revealed their life to her, pages and pages of their shared history, most of which seemed to be wrapped up in horses and ranchwork. "This one, well, that's my brother Kit's wedding."

Regina grinned to herself when she looked down to see a snapshot of Sam, obviously dressed as guest in a wedding, standing sideways in front of an altar, Jake facing her, looking down at her upturned expression with an impassive face of his own. The steps of the altar were right behind them, the photograph framing their positions in the context of stained glass and a large cross above them. The exposure made the background ethereal, while Sam and Jake stood out in sharp clarity. Regina sucked in breath at how lovely Sam had been, how healthy. The changes she could see in the young woman's vitality broke her heart, even as she was humbled by the girl's strength, her powerful approach to life. Talking about this was obviously painful, but for some reason, she was doing it with a smile on her face.

"Don't know why everybody thought that was so funny shot of Quinn's was so funny. It was ten seconds, and we were only there because the receiving line took forever." Sam grumbled.

Regina saw how it was, clearly. Everyone knew, as she did after only knowing them for a few days, that the picture was some kind of glimse into the future, some real life foreshadowing. Regina shook her head, and turned the page, delving deeper into their history. She felt incredibly awed at the gift they were sharing with her, and wondered if they knew how personal this album was, or if it seemed normal to them.

Her favorite pictures, though, were easily the ones from their younger years, of which there were dozens. Jake looked henpecked, and Regina knew instantly where Sam's nickname had come from, but obviously photo-Sam didn't care, because she was running after him, clinging to him, or otherwise there, in every single shot. Maybe it was selection bias, though Regina didn't know.

There, on the final page, after a dozen blank pages, was a worn and tattered 5x7. It was not artfully arranged, nor was the page decorated. For all its simplicity, the image was startling. The photo was simple. There was a woman, obviously Sam's late mother, supporting a small version of Jake, as he sat next to her in a bed, legs splayed out towards the camera, with a pillow angled on his lap. In his lap, atop the pillow, there the unmistakable shape of a swaddled infant. The woman's other hand was steadying the baby, as Jake looked down, face mixed with confusion and awe.

Regina could not resist asking, even though she could make a very good guess, "Who's that?"

"Me." Sam said, simply, pulling the blanket she was using up a bit.

"Oh." Regina began, and Sam's expression was devoid of any special inflection as she met Regina's eyes. Regina worried that she might have overstepped, though, when she asked "Have you always been together?"

Sam replied, "Always." She said, waiting a second to add, "Well, college, and...ex-except for when I came here. And Jake will be leaving in a day or two."

"Brat, that's...news to me." His voice was soft.

"Well, you can-can't stay forever. You're needed at ho-home. Sam stammered more than usual when she was talking to Jake, "With your family."

His tan face went chalky. Jake bit back a reply, Regina noticed, and tucked the blanket tighter about them. Regina shut the book, and passed it back to Sam, who took the heavy book and frowned at it, as though she couldn't bear to look at it. She dropped it on the floor next to the couch with a heavy thud, and Jake looked at her with shock and hurt plain on his face.

When Regina left the room to begin to collect her things after another moment of chit-chat, a conversation began in the other room. Regina tried to ignore the soft argument. Sam insisted Jake was staying out of guilt, that he needed to go. For his part, Jake thought Sam was stubborn, that she couldn't understand that things would be okay, in the end, that they'd make it. Their discussion came to a screeching as Susan came home, and Regina left for the night.

_Cause today my world slipped away_

_we buried the plans that we made_ _and tonight I'm alone and afraid_

_cause today my world slipped away_

_All my friends say I'll make it alright_

_I'll recover and start a new life_ _but that'll be so hard to do..._

_Today My World Slipped Away_ , George Strait

That night was one of the worst Jake had ever experienced, even considering the last two months. Sam was drained from therapy, she threw up everything she ate because of the pain medications, and the headache that made her sick to her stomach. Jake discovered that it was the headaches that were responsible for making her so sick, at least in part. He'd assumed it was the medication, but he'd bet his life it was the pounding headache more than anything else. She couldn't get comfortable, even with him there, so they sat, together, side by side. Around two in the morning, after Jake had come back to her room, and held her in silence, Sam began to sob.

"God, Jake." She admitted, touching her head. "This sucks."

"I know." And she knew that he did. She was comforted by his frank honesty, even as it reminded her that he needed to go, needed to understand that things were not what they had been.

"I'm scared." She blurted out the word, elaborating, "Scared. And I think. I think. We need to talk." Sam didn't know where to start. She needed to tell him, tell him that the life they'd hoped for, the life in the book, wasn't possible, not anymore. She didn't even know what her life was, anymore, beyond this hospital bed.

She'd realized that her old life wasn't hers, anymore, and that it never could be again, while Regina had been flipping through the album. There would be so much, so much, he'd be leaving behind if he'd stayed here. He needed to go. He wasn't consigned to this half-life, not like she was. She wanted him to stay more than anything, but he needed to go, because if he was here out of guilt, then it was worthless. As worthless as her life felt, flipping through pages of horses and rock climbing, and horses and camping trips, and horses, and cattle drives, and horses. She had lost everything important in those pictures and it made her angry, and scared her so much.

"Okay." He nodded, prompting her to continue.

"You need to know this wasn't, isn't your fault." Sam asserted, starting with her first concern, "If you think it is, you leave, first light. I don't want you here out of guilt." Sam continued softly, "I want you to..."

"To?" Jake didn't seem at all phased by her tone.

"To be here because you choose." Sam looked at her lap, unable to believe that her heart overpowered her mind, and directed her words. It wasn't what she'd planned to say, but in for a penny, in for a pound. "Not because you're obligated."

Jake passed her a tissue, so she'd stop using his side of the blanket to dry her tears. "Brat, I am obligated."

She shook with fury and words that wouldn't form, balling the poor kleenex in her wobbly hand, even as her head throbbed intensely. "No."

"Listen, I am." Jake said, "I am, because I care. Because no matter how this happened, it did happen, and damn it, would you do any less for me?"

"N-no." She was resolute.

Jake's reply was equally as resolute. "Then don't push me away, Sam."

"We'll need to talk about this one day." She warned, knowing that there was so much she needed to say. She wasn't the person she used to be, somehow, even though she still felt like she should be. He cared about that girl, that strong, powerful, woman, not the lump who cried herself to sleep every night before he came here. "It probably won't be pretty."

"Yes, okay." Jake agreed, "But not at three in the morning when there's vomit in your hair and my eyes are bloodshot. Just..."

She was silent, unable to explain what she was thinking, as Jake flopped back to stretch out. There was no pretense of him going back to his own bed, and she was glad for at least that sliver of truth between them.

"Hey, Brat." He said, hopefully, taking her hand, "Let's get some sleep, okay? Maybe we can do something crazy this weekend."

"Yeah, you can call my father and tell him you're here. Still." With that, Sam moved stiltedly onto her side, into the bed, and prayed her nighttime prayer, her hand intertwined with Jake's. After a moment, she pulled it loose, and placed her hand on his chest, falling asleep moments later. Jake followed soon after.

She had to find a way to tell him that her life was different now. But...she knew, as soon as Jake realized what she had realized this afternoon, that what had defined her life had been ripped away, leaving only pain and shadows, that he would leave. He had the right to leave. His dreams were still the same. The important things in his life were waiting for him back in Darton. For Sam, though, they had moved on, leaving her bruised and broken, in their dust.

_Now all them things that seemed so important, w_ _ell, Mister, they vanished right into the air._

_Now I just act like I don't remember, Mary acts like she don't care._

_Now those memories come back to haunt me,_ _they haunt me like a curse._

_Is a dream a lie if it don't come true o_ _r is it something worse?_

_The River,_ Bruce Springsteen

* * *

  
****


	4. Excuse Me, Mr.

_You got a lotta nerve_ _to say you got a helping hand to lend_

_You just want to be on_ _the side that's winning_

_Positively Fourth Street_ , Bob Dylan

Jake woke to find Sam staring down at him. She looked away quickly as he spoke, voice rough from sleep, "Hey."

He rubbed his eyes and gauged her health silently. "Hi. Guess I fell asleep here again." There was a note of apology in his voice. Except, Jake knew, he wasn't sorry. Not really. Not when he awoke from a blessedly dreamless sleep to find Sam, really and truly there, just waiting for him to wake up.

She smiled fleetingly and blew off his apology. "Hmm." Sam moved as quickly as her injury would allow, struggling to sit up. Jake looked at her strangely wondering why she was in such a hurry, but kicked himself when realization dawned. The position she was in hurt. After all, she'd been like that for three hours after she'd gone to the bathroom and come back, and because of the accident, she shifted around more, out of discomfort.

After a moment or two, in which Sam looked like a cat in room full of rocking chairs, someone began to barge in as he climbed out of the bed. Jake realized how Sam must feel, with no privacy, in this place. She was an intensely private person, and he felt another twist of guilt, and a surge of anger at the unfairness of it all. She hated, he knew, having to interact with the world outside her thoughts, outside of who she chose to let inside, so much, just to function.

He moved to sit in the chair, hoping that today would be a good day. Her headache seemed to have recessed back to manageable levels, and she had smiled three times. The last tiny, private, smile faded when Sam stiffened, tense at the introduction of a new person into the room. Jake was instantly on alert as he turned his head to look. Something wasn't right here.

There in the doorway was a petite redhead. The color was obviously from a bottle, but her hair was long and down, not at all like Regina's serviceable hairband thing. She barged in and asserted, "Sam. Time for your meds."

"Just a minute, Edye, p-please." Sam sounded stressed. Her eyes were slightly wide, and she kept her hands still. Jake knew that Sam was in charge of her medication schedule. What she took or didn't take was her business, right down to when she took it. Granted, if she started playing fast and loose with the bevy of pills the doctors had her on, Jake knew he'd put a stop to it, but the woman hadn't even asked when Sam had last taken something. That omission meant she was playing a dangerous game with Sam's body. He wouldn't allow Sam to be put in harm's way, not again. Never again.

"Take them now." Edye was blunt. "There's a lot to be done, today. You don't want to spend the day in here anymore. This loafing around, it's getting silly. Getting up and moving around would do you a world of good."

Sam fiery eyes dimmed. "I know." Sam admitted softly, as though she had something to be ashamed of. That woman did not just go there. She did not just go there, Jake's mind seethed. "But...it is Saturday."

Edye opened her mouth to contradict Sam. Jake had had enough of this woman after thirty seconds. Instantly, he had disliked her manner, but now, now he hated her with every fiber of his being. Sam hardly rested, not really, and now she seemed ready to jump out of her skin. His voice was frosty, "She said for you to wait."

The redhead's eyes grew round as she turned her gaze to Jake. "Just who are you? Does Sue know you're here? I can't imagine what Sam would be doing with you." She stressed her words in such a way that Jake almost lunged out of the chair and threw her out of the room. Only his raising held him back as Edye continued, "I'm going into the living room now. Maury is nearly on."

Sam was relieved. She was off the hook. Jake smiled, but there was something off about his expression. Did that mean she was imagining how Edye treated her? She worried that she had, but surely Jake would notice what she'd been feeling from Edye all these weeks. Sam was ashamed. Here, she had been thinking all sorts of negative things, based on how the way Edye treated her made her feel. Jake didn't seem to think anything of it. Maybe she was paranoid. She was no wilting flower. She could handle getting along with anybody.

But surely Jake...surely he could sense how vulnerable Edye made her feel. Sam had never seen that expression on his face. With dawning clarity, she remembered that Edye was pretty, what with her waist length hair. Sam flinched as the door shut with a thud. Jake noticed that Sam winced at the loud sound and frowned. What was that about? They needed to talk about that.

"Jake!" Sam wailed, "She thought..." Sam winced inwardly. She thought that Jake liked her. She thought that he and Sam had been up to things. Now, she would make jabs about that, not that there was anything to make sly and cutting remarks about, only to later pass them off as a joke. But sometimes, the things Edye said didn't feel like jokes.

"I don't like her." Jake's tone was matter of fact. Sam expelled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"She's not so bad." Sam said, at a whisper, head looking down into her lap, "She just sucks the energy out of the room."

"She doesn't need to be here." Jake insisted, searching around for a hairtie. "Where's Sue?"

"Work, I suppose." Sam was noncommittal. "Sometimes she works with the kids who are labeled as disadvantaged at school on Saturday."

"Well, you have me." He said as though that negated the need for Edye. For his part, Jake knew that it did. Having these people around boarded on asinine, no matter how much he liked Regina. Sam could not rest with people in her space. She never had been able to do so, not when company came, and not now. Why should now be any different?

"Oh, and I guess you want to help me around and help me brush my teeth, then?" Sam frowned, dreading the long days that came with Edye's shifts, as she had been since she woke up ages ago, unable to sleep for worry of being rudely awakened. Edye had the habit of slamming the door, saying that the hinge was going, but Sam didn't have any trouble other than when Edye was waking her up. Still, she'd never had cause to doubt someone's word before, and she wouldn't start now.

"Better me than that...thing." He spat. Sam understood now. His expression towards Edye hadn't been anything positive at all. She was glad, simply because Edye's pretty face hid a personality that often felt very cutting.

"Jake." She chastened, as Jake took the larger blanket and folded it quickly.

"She's no good." Jake said, "Trust your gut. I'm not leaving you alone with her."

"She's not going to hurt me." Sam comforted him. She was smart enough to know that she didn't have to allow herself to by physically hurt by anyone.

Jake wondered about that, but said, "No, she's just careless and thoughtless."

"Jake, please." She begged. After a moment, her head stopped spinning, and she decided that life was to be lived. "Out." She rolled her eyes, "I want...to sit on the porch today..." Sam's mind revolted at the idea that she now had to ask for help for something so simple, that sitting like a lump on the poarch was something to be worked towards, planned for.

"Maybe that idiot will see a bug and scream that she chipped a claw." Jake joked. Still, he didn't leave or call for Edye.

He found her a robe on the back of the closet door in the blue walled bedroom. Jake wondered how had she collected so many sets of pajamas over the years. The grey jersey robe was short, but it covered more than the mint sleepshirt she wore. With effort, she shrugged it on and shoo'd him away when Jake tried to help.

He found her brush and went to move it through her hair. "Careful of my scalp." She took the brush, and began, with shaking hands, to pat down the wild curls. He wished she didn't try to tame them.

It was then that he really noticed the bloody incision with stitches in it. Well, it wasn't bloody, now, but it was hard to look at for the simple fact that the pain it must have caused her looked astronomical.

He asked her, "Can you feel it?" He needed to understand her pain. Something in him broke when he saw the incision. Something raw and painful surged inside him, deep within his soul, and he felt the urge to leave the door shut, and just hold her. Hold her until this made sense, this world she was battered and bruised, but still managed to smile and rationalize and forgive someone else's poor behavior.

Sam paused, and he felt the shift in her body language as she realized what he was asking about."Nope, the pain medication keeps it numb, unlike the bruises on my arms. She methodically moved towards the edge of the bed, and Jake wondered what they'd taught her at rehab. She'd never really said, but looking on, he could see how differently, how intentionally, she now moved. "Come on, let's go so I can take a nap later."

Finding the wheelchair in the corner, he pulled it over, stepping around back to hold it steady as she moved into awkwardly, Jake agreed, "Okay."

When they entered the living room, Maury was proclaiming that Devlin was not the father of six month old Carter. Edye hooted, "He has his ears!"

Jake and Sam shared a look. So much for basic genetics being a part of Edye's training.

Edye saw them and gave Jake a once over that made his skin crawl. "Well, who are you?"

"He's..." Sam settled for the simplest explanation. "Jake."

"Ah, the boy you call for in your sleep." Edye grinned calculating. "I thought you'd made him up."

Sam blushed, trying to ignore the hidden jab she felt. It was all in her screwed up head, anyhow. "Must be the drugs." Sam tried to deflect.

"Sam. I'm going to get dressed." He glanced down at his pajamas. "Be good." Sam knew he was warning Edye.

Once he was out of the room, the inquisition began. How old was he? Was he gay? Did he plan to stay? Did he have a girlfriend? It was then that the questions began to make sense. Edye was in her early 20s, Sam recalled, though sometimes she seemed much younger. She said she wanted...it was disgusting. It was also somewhat hurtful, Sam thought, that Edye never once considered the fact that Jake was hers. Might be hers, she corrected her mental error. Edye had never considered that Jake might be dating Sam. That was what she meant. Geez, Sam thought, her mind really must be screwed up.

When she confessed Edye's questions, without her thoughts, to Jake an hour later as they sat on the porch, Jake agreed about it being disgusting. Then he shuddered, and the rare visceral reaction from him made Sam smile, though she tried to hide it.

_This old porch is just a long time of waiting and forgetting_

_Remembering the coming back, not crying about the leaving_

_And remembering the falling down and the laughter of the curse of luck_

_The Front Porch Song_ , Robert Earl Keen, Jr.

For a time, they sat, silent. It was hot, in a way that reminded Sam of home, but there was a humidity to the San Franciscan street that Sam knew came from the bay.

"Jake, do you miss home?" Sam began, shutting her eyes against the overwhelming sensory input. She reminded herself all that they had taught her at rehab, especially to focus on one piece of input and try to make sense of that before going on to the others. Everything her brain received seemed so distorted at times and focusing was the one skill she was glad to practice at rehab. Sam decided, then and there, to focus on Jake's voice. It had always sounded unique to her. She could pick his voice out of a crowd, like she did once when she and Jen had gotten split up from Jake and Quinn at the fair. They'd all found each other, of course, easily once Sam had heard Jake above the rush of the crowd. Sam fleetingly wondered how she'd handle being in a loud place like the fair, when her brain was having trouble processing normal, everyday, things.

Jake looked quickly at her, and smiled, hesitantly, as he saw her leaning back in the chair, like a cat, eyes closed. "Should be asking you."

"Really." Sam pressed, though she didn't move a muscle or open her eyes.

"I'm..." He admitted, pausing as a loud car backfired, "not big on cities."

Sam jumped a foot, and Jake nearly reached out to her grab her. She had looked scared. "Me either." She agreed, speaking softly, after heaving a giant breath, in and out, quickly, "I feel penned up."

"Part of the recovery, I guess." Still, he was careful to watch her as she replied.

"Yeah, but that's part of it." She fumbled around, trying to pull up to sitting from a slight recline that shifting from jumping out of her skin had caused, not to mention leaning back, and took a moment to plant her feet and push down hard, so as to keep from feeling like she was falling out of the chair. "I feel trapped. My words are hard to get out. I forgot what a knife was. I feel trapped in that my time isn't my own. I share air with thousands of people. I just...want to go home." Her voice broke, "Jake. Sleep in my own bed. Ride..ride my own horse." She bit back tears, "Or a horse. But I can't even sit well."

"Give it time, Brat." He begged, softly.

"What's time matter?" Sam confessed her deepest fear. "I'm never going to go home."

"Never, Brat?" He asked. He'd planned, if all went well, that she'd be home by summer's end. If not, though, he needed a new plan. There was a solution to all of this that he was kicking around, but he needed to hear back, yet. He hoped that he'd have some word by Monday, and they could go from there.

"My father..." She looked away from his mustang eyes, "sent me here."

"Only for medical care." He gently reminded her. Wyatt was being a bit thick right now, but he was hurting, and even Jake, as much as this killed him, couldn't deny that Sam needed close access to the rehab center, "You couldn't get nurses and stuff at home."

"Oh, and we'd miss the Claw." She scoffed, adding. "I do like Regina."

Jake smiled, "She's something."

"I'm just..." Sam returned his smile, "glad you went crazy and came here."

He nodded. "Rather be in this city with you...than at home knowing you're here with the Claw."

Sam smiled, and they sat in companionable silence for a time, watching the city move past their stoop. There were so many things that passed by their stoop that Sam had never seen before, and frankly, she never wanted to see, loudness and sights and smells, that set her on edge and made her hyperaware. In her mind, home was a private space, a place you could be free, not a place you had to constantly be on guard, ready to go, no matter what. She felt constantly ill at ease, and she wanted to relax. But she knew that would never happen, not with the Claw lurking in the background, glaring at her, nor with the myriad of people who were so loud that they sent her heightened startle reflex into overdrive.

_Woke up in the city stepped down on the curb_

_To the strangest lookin' people and sounds I've never heard_

_It ain't no place for a country boy, it ain't no place to be_

_It might be fine for a city boy, but it ain't no place for me_

_Ain't No Place for a Country Boy_ , Chris LeDoux

A while later, Sam was reading Jake's book out loud. The OT and speech therapists said reading out loud would help many facets of her recovery, but Sam knew she sounded like a psychotic fourth grader with a smoking problem. Jake didn't say anything, though, about her stammer, that while fading around him, made her self conscious, or the way she fumbled around in general. She had so many issues, but Jake didn' seem to care. Jake, Sam supposed, was doing what he thought he needed to do, listening like her reading was fluid and her body didn't act like it was a puppet on messed up strings. In fact, he seemed to be listening intently until Edye came onto the porch for the fifth time. She'd interrupted a lot during their stay on the porch with chatter and just made Sam tired.

Sam noted that Jake just acted like she wasn't there, like Edye didn't figure into their dynamic at all. Edye, it appeared to Sam, was persona non grata in Jake's eyes. He was polite, but barely so, and spared her no consideration, that normally, he would extend to a woman as her due. He didn't, for example, stand up when she came into their space, though Sam knew Max would have his head for it. It was like he wasn't worried about her reactions at all, which in the past had been pretty intimidating in the last few weeks.

Gathering her courage, Sam asked her to go inside while she spoke on the phone to her friend, loudly, and with lots of hand movements that made Sam feel like Edye's arm was going to careen into her, even though the woman was across the porch they shared with Mrs. Ziller who lived upstairs, trembling as she did it. She had just wanted some alone time, but she knew it wasn't worth it, not with the look that crossed Edye's face. The woman retreated, but muttered, and returned, moments later, anger clear in her eyes. "I heated up lunch."

"C-Edye, that's okay. I'm a bit...sick." Her head was pounding, but Edye didn't need to know that. She was always so loud when Sam had a headache, which was all the time, really. Her headache never went away, just ebbed and flowed, like the sea. "The air helps, though." Sam just wanted her to go away.

Jake moved closer to Sam, speaking only to her, "Maybe you should have some toast or something."

Sam looked to Edye, "What did you heat?" Cinnemon toast sounded pretty good, actually.

Still, Sam knew, there would be no toast, not if Edye had heated something. Last week, she'd made the mistake of asking for a banana after Edye had made something else without asking Sam about it, as though she were a baby who had to be fed, and Sam thought she'd reacted as though someone had shot her cat.

"The cassorole." Edye nearly spat.

"Ugh, maybe..." Sam began, knowing her hands were starting to shake. She prayed she could steel her hands and come up with a kind way to say no. There was no way tuna noodle, leftover's of Sue's, would sit with her. She just wanted this to be over.

"Come on, Sam." Edye ordered, cutting her off. "Just eat it."

Jake gave the Claw a death glare. "She doesn't have to do anything."

Sam nerves grew, her fight or flight reaction kicking in. Her heart was racing. But Edye again, hadn't consulted Sam about what she wanted, or even was capable of, eating. This was her life now. She lived a life in which even food that she didn't ask for was something she was supposed to take and be glad for, else she'd be left with nothing. She had not done the work to make the food, and so... "I'll try some." She had never been so lazy, and Daddy always said, if you don't share in the work, you don't share in the choices.

An hour later, Sam regretted those words, and regretted that she felt so worthless. She was sweating, and she needed to throw up. Lunch had been tense beyond words."Jake..." She whispered.

He understood her plea, and Sam made it to the basin in time. "I'm sorry...sorry...sorry..."

"Brat. Just breathe." He looked to Edye, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, her face void of any ounce of compassion or urgency. Jake said, slowly, "Do your job and get me a washcloth."

"Jake she'll get mad..." Sam begged him to stop, clutching at his sleeve when she felt off balance.

"Who cares what she thinks?" He was loud enough to ensure that woman heard, but there was a tenderness to his touch that contrasted the anger in his voice.

Sam whispered after retching again. "When you go..."

"I'm not leaving you here with someone who has the bright idea to force casserole on you when you can barely eat rice." There was the anger again. "I'm not going when you can't speak up without getting scared."

She was trembling when she finished. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Jake was sorry. Sorry that this was his fault. Sorry that this had happened. Sorry that she was keeping what was really going on with her and Edye from him. He would never be sorry, though, for her strength and her goodness, no matter how much he wished it wasn't being tested like this, by this accident and the woman in the other room. He helped her as she stood, and almost panicked as Sam washed her hands as she almost lost her balance as she leaned against the vanity.

Once she was done, he took Sam's damp hand in his, "Come on, nap time."

"You just want to get away from the Claw." She said, warily at a whisper, as though the woman could be lurking in the corners like the spider she was. Jake supported most of her wobbly weight against his warm body as they worked together to exit the bathroom. Sam nearly cried at the idea that he might be mad at her.

"Darn right." He replied, brushing a strand of her horrible hair away from her eyes. He paused, raising his voice to ask, "Where's that rag, Edye?"

No rag appeared, and Edye didn't even have the grace to look castigated as she appeared and replied, "I wasn't sure if Sam wanted it." Jake closed the bedroom door rather forcefully behind them, leaving her alone. Sam felt an immense sense of relief when his body cuddled around hers, whispering everything about nothing as she fell asleep, feeling more aware of her surroundings and place in space than she had in ages. Edye could wait. Jake would not, she knew, now that her heart had stopped pounding, let anything happen to her. He never had, and she knew he never would. She was...safe. Yeah, Sam decided, she could sleep.

_And I don't need no one_  
 _To tell me 'bout a girl of mine_

_I don't care who you are_  
 _So don't explain_  
 _I don't want a thing from you_  
 _I don't want to give you nothing too_  
 _Mr. Big_ , Free

Jake sat in the chair after Sam fell asleep, going over and over their day. He was angry. He didn't like to be angry. He was so angry, angry in a way he'd never experienced before. That woman was hurting Sam. Edye wasn't evil, just abrasive and loud. She was uncaring, and totally unobservant of anything Sam tried to say. He wanted to put his foot through the TV so the loud noise wouldn't bother Sam. The woman had the guts to get angry when Sam asked her to shut it off while they ate lunch. It was Sam's Aunt's house, and even if it weren't...

His mind was flooded with information as realizations hit him. What was the most upsetting were the power plays, the passive aggressive attempts at putting Sam down, only to fall back on the 'Sam's in charge' card when Sam really wasn't able to focus on making decisions. He was also worried about Sam. She was so gutsy, but around Edye, she backed down in a way he'd never seen. It made him wonder what had happened before he got here, and made the knife twist in his gut even deeper. Well, if his new plan worked out, there would be no more of this.

The phone rang, cutting off his train of thought. Jake answered, avoiding the Claw, who was on the cell phone, as usual. "Hello?"

"Jake?" Wyatt's tone was questioning.

Jake froze, but replied, as though he were calm, "Hey, Wyatt."

"You're still in San Fransisco?" The lean man asked. That was his first question? Not, 'How's Sam?' or 'Where's Sam?' or 'Will you open the door for me? I'm here.'

"Yes sir." The sir caught in his mouth, but he said it. Perhaps he was being too harsh on Wyatt. He didn't know how Wyatt could do it, now that Sam was gone. He wondered how Wyatt had even continued to live after Aunt Lou died. He knew he'd been in a bad way, in so short a time as wo months without...Jake shook away the direction of his thoughts on the end of the line. He had every right to be here in San Fransisco. Wyatt, he was forced to admit, had the legal right to direct Sam, much as it galled him, but Wyatt had not one ounce of say in where Jake went, or what he did. Wyatt could send Sam to Alaska, and he would have no say in the fact that Jake would learn to ice fish.

"I don't like it." Wyatt declared as though that meant something to Jake, "Sam needs to recover."

"I know." Jake prayed she would as he spoke the words.

Jake, when asked how Sam was, was honest. He didn't know that Sam had been spackaling the truth to suit her father. Therefore, it wasn't a pretty conversation, simply because Jake didn't sugar coat anything. After a few moments, the discussion grew heated in a way that made each word icy and sharp. Barely restrained barbs were exchanged, and after slamming the phone down when Wyatt ended the call, Jake grew angrier still.

How dare Wyatt care about anything else than the fact that Sam was injured? How dare anything else be a consideration in that man's life? How dare he try to guilt Jake into coming back home, as though there was any reason that could compel him to do so? How dare he try and say that whatever Sam needed to do, she was better off handling without Jake there, as though she were to be punished, isolated, like a child put in the corner.

Wyatt had been his hero, all his life, but no hero acted like this. Heck, no man with any honor put blame on a woman he was supposed to die for. Jake was let down by a man he'd idolized for nearly two decades. His rhetoric had felt very shallow and self centered, and Wyatt had seemed defensive, and then had the lack of spine to get angry at Sam for not telling him the truth. What was that? He'd grown angrier still when Jake had called him on it.

Sam was here, fighting her way back to normal, and there were so many obstacles in her way, from basic functioning to the addition of the Claw. How dare Wyatt add to those burdens? How dare Wyatt consider anything else than what Sam needed? To that end, if forced to admit it, Jake couldn't understand why she was sent away into the care of the Claw. As nice as Sue and Regina were, they weren't her family...not in the way, well, he was. And all of them, he quickly thought, turning back to the bedroom. It was his job to take care of her, to protect her, and people tried to get in the way.

He could almost understand Edye's pedantic little power trips. Edye knew she'd never be half the woman Sam was, but where did Wyatt get off? Jake hoped that Wyatt knew that if he really pushed, and tried to take Sam from Jake, there was no telling what Jake would do.

_And I feel like a stranger from another world_

_But at least I'm livin' again_

_There were nights full of anger, words that were thrown, te_ _mper that is shattered and thin_  
 _But the moments of magic are just to short, t_ _hey're over me before they begin_

_Well, I know it's time, one big step_  
 _I can't go, I'm not ready yet_

_Til I am myself_  
 _Til I am myself_  
 _Til I am myself again_

_Til I am Myself Again_ , Blue Rodeo

 


	5. The Needle and the Damage Done

_Trouble he will find you no matter where you go, oh oh_

_No matter if you're fast, no matter if you're slow, oh oh_

_The eye of the storm or the cry in the morn, oh oh_

_You're fine for a while but you start to lose control_

_So don't be alarmed if he takes you by the arm_

_I won't let him win, but I'm a sucker for his charm_

_Trouble is a friend, yeah trouble is a friend of mine, oh oh!_

_Trouble is a Friend_ , Lenka

Sunday evening, Sam found herself sitting on the couch with Sue and across from Jake. They'd eaten, and talked quite a bit. Sue was lively, as she always was, and the evening was fun. Even though Sam felt funny, she didn't say anything when it was painful to laugh, or to speak overmuch. It hurt to do anything, these days, and she was no whiner.

"Honey, are you going to finish your soup?" Sue prompted, looking from Sam to her bowl of Progreso. If only she could get up, Sam thought, she'd cook. She sucked in a lungful of air, and paused, holding it for a second. Sam's heart began to race, realizing with dawning clarity that it was hard to breathe. A rush of panic hit her, but she tramped it down.

Sam barely resisted screaming. Her head felt so funny, but she reined in her poor impulse control. She could handle this, without giving in to her injury. "No." She said, "Thank..." She inhaled again, but it felt sharper, and shallow, somehow, than even moments before, "you."

Sue turned to look at her as she inhaled. "Are you cold?"

"No." Sam exhaled, "Wh-hy?"

"Your lips are blue, Sam." Sue said.

Jake was there, before her, then, demanding, "Let me see your fingernails."

Sam glanced down, and shoved her hand under the blanket quickly, before he could take it in his own.

Sue noticed her actions, and put two and two together to come up with four, obviously growing alarmed at Sam's shallow breathing and the lack of color to her pale skin. "Do you want to call 911 or do you want to go to the ER?"

"I'm..." inhale, exhale, Sam told herself, shifting her gaze to her Aunt, rather than her lap. "Not." It had just started, and she was so tired. So tired. Where was Jake? He'd gone somewhere. Where'd he go? He was just here! 

Jake cut her off, returning with her shoes in his hand. "You have 30 seconds to make a choice."

She focused on breathing. Autocratic jerk. She was fine, but suspected she wouldn't like the call he'd make. Why she knew he'd take charge over Sue was unclear, but she knew all the same that he would, and he would, as always, overreact. Jake slid on her sneakers, and said, "15."

"Fine." She was really light headed anyway, she realized, and she wished he'd shut up. She sucked in a lungful of air, just to force her decision out. "Go."

"All right." Sue said, moving to grab her bag, relief evident in her tone.

Sam had to tell them. She just had to tell them that she couldn't go. She couldn't, not when she was so tired and they hadn't finished their dinners, dishes half eaten on the coffee table. The hospital made her so tired, and she was so tired now, plus Sue needed to eat, and Jake had lost weight. "I..."

"Sam." Jake replied, helping her up, "Complain once we're sure your lungs aren't filling with fluid."

Sue opened the door. "We'll take the car."

"Can't..." Sam said, "I'm tired..."

Sue said, "Breathe, Sammy."

She inhaled, over and over, but it wasn't enough. There wasn't enough air, not even when they got out to the porch. This city didn't even have enough air. How could people live like this, Sam wondered.

The car ride was tense. Jake took Sam's pulse. He worried doubly when he realized that she was too out of it, to focused on breathing as they took the three minute drive, to notice that he was taking her pulse. The drive seemed aching slow, to Jake, even as Sue got them there quickly, faster than an ambulance would have, he hoped. He didn't know response times here. There was so much he didn't know.

As they drove, he thought of all the things that it could be, as Sam sat next to him. It could be anything with her lungs. It could be acute pulmonary edema. His EMT training and biology classes kicked in, mind spinning. What if they'd misdiagnosed some of the symptoms after the accident as normal? Then it could be pulmonary fibrosis, or pneumothorax... What if it was her heart? It could be anything, pericarditis or even some form of cancer. His rational mind kicked in as Sue made a sharp right into the hospital complex. He would have noticed something like cancer, surely. She would have exhibited early symptoms, lethargy, pain, weight loss...

Maybe it was hypotension. Her diet had gone from what they were used to at home to barely subsisting as she recovered from massive trauma. Massive trauma that had been, at the end of the day, his fault. He should have never let her work on her own with Blackie. So what if the horse's name had been a joke between them, that she was 16, that she'd handled many training exercises before Blackie's, that Blackie was, finally, at the age of 16, the first horse that had been wholly hers from birth. None of that or the safety measures he'd thought he'd had in place, mattered now.

He prayed it would be something simple, but Jake didn't know. He didn't know. No one spoke beyond making sure Sam was okay, with them, alert, as they walked into the emergency room, thankful for the metropolitan hospital's valet parking.

Once inside the hospital's brightly lit emergency room, they were swept away by the triage system, as though Sam was nothing more than a box on a conveyor belt, a commodity, a known quantity. The intake desk nurse looked at Sam, barely alert and leaning forward to gain a breath, and called for someone called Inez. Inez, clad in blue scrub pants and a duck themed top, quickly appeared, as calm and cool as a breeze, and ushered them into a tiny room just past a doorway aside the desk.

Sam grabbed onto the oxygen mask as soon as it was placed over he face in the small room that contained two chairs and a computer desk, and gasped at the onslaught of air. Jake was numb. Normally, hospitals were invigorating to him. He loved the rush, but now that he was on the other side of the patient-provider divide, that this was his family on the line, it was completely different. He couldn't process the shifts in light, the noise, in the questions Inez was asking. His heart stopped though, when Inez said to Sam, "Do you have a DNR?"

In a moment of horror, Jake remembered Mr. Tyrell. He'd gone to his house as part of the EMT crew, only to have the man's condition falter as they got to the regional hospital's ER. Jake was glad they'd gotten him there in time, certain he'd be fine and back to his prized herb garden within days. He remembered watching as the doctor stepped back from the man's failing body, unable to do anything to save him, only to make him comfortable in accordance within the specifics of his documented DNAR and his end of life wishes. Sam replied with a shake of her head and he exhaled mutely.

Jake realized with dawning clarity, that he didn't know everything about Sam. He didn't. Everyone said he did, that they knew each other better than they know their own selves, but that wasn't true. He had no clue what her end of life wishes were. That wasn't exactly a conversation you had over a campfire at the annual cattle drive, now was it? What was he to say, "Brat, pass the coffee, and by the way, how do you feel about death?"

Jake turned away from the sickening turn of his thoughts. She wasn't dying. She'd be fine, judging by the expression he caught flashing across her face when Inez mentioned bloodwork.

Sam nodded lamely after the distaste left her pale face. "Fine." She yawned, "I'm tired."

"Well, I'll see what I can do about finding you someplace to rest." Inez said, gently. "It's going to be a while, Samantha." Inez confided, "We're down three x-ray machines due to a computer error."

_Sometimes I need a little sunshine a_ _nd sometimes I need you_

_Heaven knows I need a little h_ _ope for a better day_

_A little love to find a way t_ _hrough this heaviness I feel_

_I just need someone to say "Everything's okay..."_

_Everything's Okay,_  Lenka

Inez excused herself, then, leaving the door to the tiny room open. The seconds ticked by slowly. Sue excused herself, probably to call Wyatt, and Jake sat, watching Sam, watching the monitors as her heart rate evened, and spiked, and evened out, higher than he'd like it to spiked again, and her O2 sats dropped, and rose, dropped, rose, over and over in a maddening cycle. Jake wanted to protect her from this, but how could he shelter her from her own body?

His gaze studied her for so long, he supposed, that she finally opened her eyes and said, "What?"

"It's easier to breathe if you don't talk." Jake gently informed her. 

"It's easier to breathe..." Sam sucked in another breath, "if you aren't looking at me like that."

He was confused. He hadn't been looking at her in any special way, he knew. His reply was cut off by the appearance of another person in the opposite doorway, the one that led out of the room to the back, away from the ER. "Sam?"

"Hey, Hannah." Sam replied, weakly.

Hannah returned the greeting, pushing a big cart into the tiny room. Jake was glad to use her arrival as an excuse to sit in the chair closer to where Sam was parked, close enough to touch her, if she needed to, or if she wanted to. "Looks like we're drawing some blood tonight."

Sam lifted the mask, but before she could ask, Hannah filled her in, as she fiddled with her cart. "Five vials, I think."

How did Sam know this woman? How did she know that Sam always asked how many vials were being taken? How was this their normal? It was all he could do not to let his hands shake as he rolled up Sam's left sleeve, leaving her right, the one closest to him, available to be held. Sam noticed his hands shaking, because she saw everything, and muttered with a reassuring smile, "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay, not by a long shot. This wasn't okay. It wasn't okay, not when Sam squeezed his hand in pain, and not in joy. It wasn't okay, not when she turned her head, unable to watch as her blood left her body. Jake felt sick, but he couldn't look away. It wasn't okay that Hannah had to avoid several veins because they'd been used so much they were near to the point of collapse.

When Hannah switched the vial, they lost the vein. Hannah muttered sympathetically. "I won't roll the needle on you, Sam."

"You're too nice." Sam deadpanned. "I know the drill."

Hannah paused, thinking, as she got a clean needle kit out, "Have they looked at the veins in your hands, recently?"

Sam shook her head. Hannah tried to find a vein, but couldn't. After a moment, she paused, "Did your nurse say anything about an IV?"

Sam looked to Jake, a silent question easily read on her face. He replied, "No."

"They'll probably want one. I'll go check." Hannah smiled, "You get a reprieve, Sam." Sam cracked a smile, but he didn't see what was so darn funny about it, or about the fact the woman knew that you could always get blood out of Sam's left arm before her right. 

This was her blood, her blood in those vials, her blood in the pink topped vial. Her blood in the blue topped vial. Her blood was outside of her body. She had lost so much once before. He felt his stomach swoop. The last time he had seen her blood, it had been on his hands, under his nails. Her blood had spilled upon the ground, and he had been powerless to stop it, stop the hypovolemic shock. And now, they were taking that very blood from her body. He couldn't stop it this time, couldn't stop the pain he knew she was doing her level best to hide.  He saw the pain in the knit of her brow, in the shimmery tenseness of the lines of her body, in the way her tongue poked through her teeth to keep from crying out as she looked away from the needle. He saw it in the way her eyes fastened to him. 

"Jake." Sam whispered, as Hannah excused herself, "You alright?"

"I'm not the one..." Jake began, confused. This wasn't about him. He wasn't the one in pain. He wasn't the one she needed to take care of, be worried about. And yet, she was. It confused him, but it humbled him, too. 

"I know." Sam replied, voice shakey from lack of breath, "but you're really emotive right now."

"Are you trying to tell me to calm down?" He asked, taken aback.

"Yeah. Chill." Sam ordered, "We'll be out of here in an hour, and then..."

"Then?" Jake asked, only wanting to hear her voice, hear the promise she gave him for tomorrow. He wanted all of her tomorrows, wanted to store them up in a vial like the one in the cart in the room, wanted to feel them between them, a shared acknowledgement that there was always a tomorrow to face, together. 

"Then what do you say to a  _Green Acres_ marathon?" Sam grinned, licking her chapped lips. "They play 'em all day here. We've got cable, now."

He snorted. They had cable at Three Ponies, but replied softly. If she wanted to hum about farm living, he would oblige her. "Whatever you want, Brat."

Sam grinned. Who would have thought she'd ever hear those words out of his mouth? When she was not tired, not so horrible feeling, she'd hold them over his head. Or...Sam looked at Jake, who seemed to be processing some emotions she didn't like to see in his eyes, maybe not. It wasn't funny, not that he was scared like this. Sam could feel it, swirling in the air around them, just as she felt immeasurably safer because he was here. She'd give anything for him not to be scared, for him not to try to hide it, because he thought she needed him. She did, she needed him like air, but not at the expense he was putting himself through.

Sue returned then, just as Hannah did, and with her she brought the charge nurse, who reminded Jake of his fourth grad math teacher, a frazzled woman in ballet pink scrubs. The mental connection was amusing, but it quickly faded as he realized her take charge attitude that he'd never seen in Mrs. Hector. Her brisk manner was kind, but not in the least as soothing as she thought it was. Jake saw nothing "quick and easy" about shoving yet another needle into Sam's already bruised skin, nothing "simple" about connecting the new IV line to bags of medications he couldn't identifiy specifically that a doctor had called down.

The charge nurse led them to a room in the back corner of the ER , where Inez came over to work with Sam as the charge nurse left for more important duties. Inez easily assisted Sam into the bed. Jake was, again, taken aback when he realized that Sam knew what the process was, how to compensate for her shortness and lack of ability to jump the miniscule difference that her body needed to get up onto the bed. She knew not to yank on her arm, lest she pull the IV. Sam knew that she had to stay in the center of a sheet that Inez used to help her slide up towards the head of the bed. Sam knew so much that he didn't, and Jake wished that it was him, and not her, for the millionth time tonight.

The moments dragged after Inez pulled the curtain, leaving them fairly isolated in the corner. Sam ended up sitting in his chair, which was completely against hospital regulations, but the bed in the back of the ER was even more uncomfortable than her wheelchair. She'd sat up, using what little energy he knew she had, and said, "I'm getting up."

"Sammy, you can't..." Sue began, worriedly.

Sam ignored her, pulling the covers off her legs. Jake asked, "Where do you want to go?"

"The chair." Sam decided. It wasn't like she had any other options, not anymore. "This bed feels like..." She yawned.

"You sure?" Jake asked.

"I...hurt." Sam confessed softly, tears springing to her eyes. "It hurts. All of me hurts. I have to do something. I can't just..."

"Alright." Jake agreed, gently, allowing her rambling speech to come to a halt. He understood that feeling, at least. The IV pole was easily moved, as was Sam, once the chair was drug over by the bedside so that the oxygen tubing would reach down that far.

Sam sat on the chair, and found that she could easily put her feet up on the ledge on the side of the bed, where the bars attached near the base of the bed. Inez's collegue found Sam sitting there, and looked at Sam with disapproval in his eyes. Sam lifted her gaze to the man's, who obviously backed down, and said, "We need to get you for an x-ray."

Sam nodded lamely, and Sue got the wheelchair out of the corner. The transfer was somewhat awkward, as Sam was so exhausted that she almost lost her balance twice. The nurse began to move Sam's chair, once she was settled into it. As the man put his hands on the handles, Sam snapped, "Don't..."

She inhaled again, "I won't...I can..." Feebly, she reached out to grab the wheels, missing the push bar by a few inches. The other hand was taken up by the IV, and Jake saw her visibly wince as she tried to move it from her lap. Jake met Sam's gaze, and for a fleeting second, he thought he saw fear fading in her eyes as Sue spoke.

Sue seemed to understand what Sam was saying, speaking quickly, "Sammy. We'll go with you. Jake can push you, yeah? Give your arms a bit of rest."

Moments later, when the tech was taking the x-ray, Sue whispered in an undertone. "I don't think she likes random people pushing the chair."

"Has she said?" Jake asked, leaning against the wall in the tiny room. He could understand why'd she feel that way. Sam really valued being in control of where she went. She had always felt that way, conceding control only to her horses. Forget it if she thought there was a better way to get somewhere, or if another person tried to speed her up or slow her down.

"Sam?" Sue joked, from next to him as they watched through the glass, "Volunteer information? Should we have you checked out, too?"

_Someone's knockin' at the door_

_Somebody's ringin' the bell_

_Someone's knockin' at the door_

_Somebody's ringin' the bell_

_Do me a favor, open the door and let 'em in, let 'em in_

_Let 'Em In,_ Paul McCartney & Wings

After the x-ray, Sam was given an actual room, not far from the ER, with actual walls. Well, Jake assumed there were walls, given that he wasn't allowed back there until Sue got back from the bathroom. Sam had fallen asleep, and the nurse wouldn't wake her long enough for him to get her permission to be back there. It galled him, beyond belief. Granted, it had been less than fifteen minutes, but it was fifteen minutes that Sam was alone in a place she hated. She wasn't there to touch, to make sure she was okay. He couldn't hear the more even sound of her breathing, assure himself that she was okay, because he was stuck here under the burning gaze of Nurse Rached.

Sue returned, almost walking right by him, on the way to Sam's room. She stopped short, "What are you doing out here?"

Jake unfolded his tired frame from the plastic waiting room chair at the end of the hall, right next to the nurse from hell. "Ask Nurse Rached."

There was a horrified gasp from the desk, as well as smothered giggles from a few other nurses who were also working there. Sue's face cleared of confusion as compassion took its place, "I'll put you on her visiting paperwork."

Jake wondered how Sue had the authority to do that, but nodded, unable to resist looking at the nurse with a 'Did I not tell you?' look in his eyes. 

As they walked down the hallway, Jake had a thought. He really should go and wait for Wyatt, or at least go where he get some reception and text him the room number so that he'd have it when he got here. They'd been hauled from pillar to post tonight, and he knew Wyatt probably would have an easier time of finding his way to Sam if Jake helped him out in getting through the labyrinth that were these hallways. He was mad at Wyatt, undeniably so, but that didn't mean he was unwilling to help him out for Sam's sake.

"I'll stay with her, Sue, tonight." Jake spoke, knowing Wyatt would also be here. He'd stay if that weren't the case, but Sue needed rest. "You have work tomorrow."

"Honey, I can't leave you here." She patted his shoulder, forgetting his bubble of space in her exhaustion, as they walked down the hallway. "You can have the chair."

"You can come back before work." Jake negotiated, hating to see her have no sleep at all. She was a nice woman. She had stepped up for her sister's child as though Sam were her own. Their love for each other was evident in their relationship and because of that, Jake knew, in many ways, he loved her, too.

"You're not going to leave her here, are you?" Sue asked knowingly, slowing her pace down the long hall. Jake supposed she wanted to talk. Her let his stride shorten to match hers, but did not reply. There was no response to the question that did not imply the kind woman was an idiot. Instead, he clarified, "Did you call Wyatt?"

"Yes." Sue said.

Jake looked at the clock they were passing. If she'd called when they'd gotten here, Wyatt would be here sooner, rather than later, maybe within the hour. Maybe he should go wait, he thought again, even as he was reluctant to put more space between himself and Sam. "When will he be here?"

Jake's gaze swiveled to meet hers as she asked, "What do you mean?"

He felt, suddenly, bad for Sue. She was so tired that she couldn't follow the thread of conversation. "When will he get in from home?" Jake clarified.

"He isn't coming down, Jake." Now Jake was the one who was confused. He couldn't have heard her correctly. Sue touched his arm as they crossed the threshold. "He wants Sam to call him."

Fury flashed through Jake as Sue hastened to add. "He said to call the second she woke up." But even she must know it wasn't enough, Jake thought. Jake sighed, and plopped into the chair next to the bed, his face revealing the tension he felt.

How dare Wyatt be so callous? How dare he not be there? Jake watched in silence as Sue reluctantly left after the doctor stopped by again, knowing she was scared to go. Sam had come so close to so many issues and complications tonight. She'd avoided a lot, and he knew, medically gotten off easy, given that her respiratory issues were small, and likely to fade in time, but why should tomorrow matter today? How dare Wyatt not get in the car the second he heard? He'd texted his own parents, and they'd offered to drive down. He'd refused, thinking Wyatt would be there.

Oh, sure. He knew logically, that she'd be okay in a day or two. The doctor had confirmed that it was pulmonary edema, though it was a mild case, only requiring some medications and a nebulizer regime, as long as Sam took care to monitor her symptoms. She'd avoided testing because they could make a good guess as to the cause.

But how could Wyatt know that for himself? Wyatt had no clue as to the situation, other than what Sue had told him. He'd probably gotten a phone call when Sue had gone to the bathroom, which made sense to Jake seeing as long he'd sat there with Rached.

Still, how could Wyatt know that the doctor had said when he pulled them aside, "I've put in a call to Dr. Francis upstairs at the rehab center. Her lungs should be fine in a day or so." He went on to explain why her lungs had worsened, and that she would need to be careful to breathe more deeply to clear her lungs, as well as to consistently use the nebulizer, once the drug regimens were cleared by a pulmonologist.

The doctor had added, "It's not uncommon with people with a TBI to have respiratory issues, though typically you see it more frequently in cases wherein paralysis is an issue. You're welcome to stay of course, though I encourage you to get a good night's rest while you're off." He said, "She's in good hands, and she shouldn't be awake."

That was bullshit, Jake thought. Get a good night's rest? Really? Like Sam was some baby who needed to be tended to in the night, like she was some burden who came with a work schedule, who required time off. Really? He'd stay here, thank you very much. The doctor could shove it. And so could Wyatt. How could Wyatt trust anyone else, without the ability to judge for himself that Sam was okay?

Wyatt thought a phone call was enough. A phone call, when his daughter's lungs had come a hairsbreadth from failing, when there had been fluid in her lungs. He thought a phone call was enough when Sam had stopped breathing properly.

She'd nearly topped taking in air, Inez hovering over the monitors for longer moments before the medication took had topped doing the thing that kept people alive. Almost. Stopped.

She'd faded before their eyes, a rattle and a wheeze coming from her frail body as she'd gotten weaker and weaker before the medication kicked in. She tried to hide it, but he'd seen the ebb and flow of her oxygenation on the monitor, the dips, and the eventual evening out, but numbers couldn't hide the truth. She'd gotten worse before she'd gotten better, here, tonight, at the hospital. Sure, yeah, rationally, he knew that it was a minor complication and they were merely keeping her for observation to avoid possible complications like a lawsuit, but how could Wyatt think so rationally where Sam was concerned?

His anger, and sadness grew, as he considered the fact that Wyatt wasn't coming over and over in his mind. He considered calling the man himself, but was unable to think of the words to say. He sat, and prayed. The only thing within him that could rise above this crushing fear, and despair, was God, God and the hope that he would understand. He realized, somehow, that he never would, but by God's Grace, he tried. There were no words for what he was feeling, and he was angered, that even for a moment, he was thinking about himself, but there were no words to express the myriad of emotions he was feeling. Thankfully, some prayers did not need them.

_I'm just trying to understand_

_It's all in someone else's hands_

_There's always been a bigger plan_

_But I don't need to understand_

_Learning How to Bend,_ Gary Allen

When Sam woke up, a colleague of Rached's happened to be there, and she kindly got everything set up so that Sam was comfortable. Jake was tense with lack of sleep, but he calmed slightly when Sam reached over and grabbed his hand. "Hey."

"You're not supposed to be talking." He said, "Go to sleep."

She glared at him, but spoke softly. "Can't."

"Try." He brushed a comparatively long lock of hair back from her face, so that they didn't interfer with the oxygen tubing. After a second of staring into her eyes, he glanced at the clock. Had he really sat awake this long? "Sue will be here soon. You...have to call your...Wyatt." He couldn't bring himself to call that man her father, angry as he was.

"I can call Dad now." Sam looked around the room, "He's...not here, is he?"

"No, Brat." He said, a note of apology in his voice, "I'll dial."

He handed the phone on the third ring, and made no pretense of not listening in. The conversation was stilted. Sam assured Wyatt she would be fine, and that she understood why he wasn't there, and yes, she was in good hands. Wyatt ended the call first, after about two minutes. When Sam fumbled to hang up the cell phone, Jake yawned.

"I'm sorry." She ventured, looking at him with concern in her eyes.

"What for?" He asked, sitting back in the visitor's chair. It was supposed to be comfortable, but it was about as comfortable as the wooden benches at school assemblies with less width. She had nothing to be sorry for, nothing. This wasn't her fault. None of it was.

She frowned, looking at his worn face, "You've gotten no sleep."

He nearly gave his late Grandma Ely's traditonally flippant response of I'll sleep when I'm dead, but he knew in an instant that the moment was too raw, so he just shrugged.

Sam knew what he'd been about to say, because she knew him, and said, "Jake, I'm fine."

"How can you say that?" He asked, bewildered. She was far from fine. She'd be fine, if they were home, fine if this never had happened, fine if they'd stayed awake all night studying the wild horses and was tired and worn from that exertion. She was not fine, not while she stuck here, with even more on her plate than before tonight.

"I'm fine." She repeated. With horribly accurate insight that only Sam could lay claim to in his life, she tried to put his fears to rest. "I'm not going anywhere. I never was."

"What happened tonight, Sam. You..." He could not finish. He would not finish. She squeezed his hand softly, and was silent for a moment.

"It happens, the nurses said." She shrugged, even as she blinked tiredly, "I'll deal."

He corrected her. "We will, you mean." There was nothing in this world she'd face alone. There never had been, and there never would be. Statistically, she'd outlive him, and he was fine with that set of numbers. She would live, and she would thrive, and he knew, deep within himself, from the same place that he knew that she was his best friend, that he'd die trying to make sure that that happened for her.

Her grin was electric as she said, "Potato, Pahtahto."

"Mhm." He returned her smile, uncrossing his ankles and pulling his hat over his eyes as he stretched out as languidly as the chair would allow, "Go to sleep."

Sam sat in silence, listening to Jake nod off. She'd come to some realizations that were hard pills to swallow, but Sam had other fish to fry. Somehow, she knew they'd make it. They'd have to. Jake kept insisting that they'd rise or fall together. Jake didn't deserve this life, this life of sitting by her bedside, when there were so many things he could be doing with his own life. She'd had to give up a lot. No one at rehab had said that to her, of course, but she knew. Her days of riding free on the range were behind her. What she wouldn't give, to be back there, just for a moment, just to feel the freedom of it all, for one more second.

But Jake wasn't trapped, not like she was. Jake could go. He should go. He'd eventually have to, she realized, even as it broke her heart. There was something within him that would crumble and die if what he considered to be his home was taken from him. Why else had he lost so much weight, being in San Fransisco? That was the only explanation she could come up with, and the implications did not sit well with Sam. She would not be responsible for taking away the places and spaces he felt were his home.

Sam was scared. Her body was turning on her. It had always been a tool for her, something she'd used without fail. It had always worked, always complied, but now it wouldn't. She had no choice but to cowgirl up, and smile, trying to hide the fear. She wasn't afraid of not being able to breathe, not really, now that she could again, of course. She was mostly just scared for what not being able to breathe normally would mean for her life.

Jake had options, choices, ones he was throwing away. There was very little she could do to change the path she was on, and the powerlessness she felt alarmed her. She'd always felt in control, and at this moment, she didn't know how to put the sense of loss and despair she was feeling into words. Still, he needed to know that she would give anything for this to change, for herself, yes, but also for him.

"Jake." Sam whispered, once she was certain he was asleep. "I'm sorry. I wish..." Her voice, though low, clearly wobbled, "But wishes aren't horses." A single tear dripped down her face. Now, it was clearer than ever, that her wishes would never be horses again.

_All we can do is keep breathing_

_All we can do is keep breathing_

_All we can do is keep breathing_

_Keep Breathing,_ Ingrid Michelson

 


	6. One Headlight

_Now that I'm losing hope a_ _nd there's nothing else to show_

_For all of the days that we spent c_ _arried away from home_

_Some things I'll never know a_ _nd I had to let them go_

_I'm sitting all alone, feeling empty_

_Pressure,_ Paramore

Monday morning dawned brightly illuminating the large windows Sam stared out of as she waited to be released from the hospital. She hated hospitals, but on the upside, the solitude did give her ample time to think, and the solitude gave her no escape from her own mind. Sam thought over her realizations as she stared out the window in her hospital room. The nurse, Jala, was stripping her bed, and smiled at her fleetingly as she stripped the sheet from the bed. Sam smiled back, and turned her gaze to the window, to look out over parking lots and the traffic beyond.

After a moment of looking over the bustle, her thoughts flew forward in her mind and she reviewed the events of the night, even if they had only been in her mind. She shook her head. So much of her life existed only in her head, now. Her version of the world, right down to the sensations she felt, was entirely constructed by a messed up brain. No wonder she always had a headache, Sam thought wryly.

Sam decided last night, or rather, early this morning, to suck it up. She was above feeling hopeless. Gram hadn't raised a whiner and the girl she had raised was stronger than giving into to hopeless despair. Except, she really wasn't, the traitorous echoes of her heart whispered. Sam felt, in the quiet, overwhelmed by feelings of loss, not only of what she'd had in the past, but would never have. She would never again have her brain exactly the way it was, nor would she ever approach life in the same way, even if she ever did do the same things. If she were completely honest with herself, Sam knew that it was highly unlikely that her body would ever physically be the same. Weeks later, she still felt uneasy in the world, uneasy in her skin in a purely physical way.

On the bright side, she was starting to feel what could only be the beginnings of curiosity, even though it made her her uneasy to explore it mentally because she worried that might mean she was giving up, giving in, admitting defeat. She knew she'd never do that. Still, Sam's heart had unanswered questions. Had this pain, this experience, shaped her?

Who was she? What did the changes in her life mean? The world around her felt different, right down to the sensations she experienced, and Sam didn't know if he senses would ever modulate. She had to give up so many things and the ability to experience them as the person she used to be. Everything was different, Sam knew, and there was very little to build a new frame of reference left within her. Using the last bit of grit she possessed, she'd made up her mind to allow herself to wallow in her loss once she was better equipped to deal with it, when she'd gathered more information about how things had changed.

Still, it was sobering and painful to acknowledge the darkest of the facts about her current circumstances. Every dream she'd ever had was gone, as they had been wrapped up in things she could no longer do. Train Blackie herself? Gone. Manage River Bend one day? Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. That latter obviously hurt the most, or at least she knew it would in the long run. River Bend was everything to her. The land, the work, was in her blood, in her soul, in a way that would never change, and she worried that her connection with her land was damaged, or would be, in some way. She had lost weeks, weeks of being at home, weeks of being involved in her land, in her home. Gram didn't say much about what was going on, and Dad seemed intent on focusing on her health, her healing in San Fransisco.

Still, Sam knew there were things she hadn't lost, or would get back, eventually. While getting dressed to be released, Sam had managed to put on her left sock without much trouble. Okay, so maybe it wasn't something to write home about, but it was an improvement. Even Jala, who had since quit the room, seemed to think so, though Sam hadn't voiced her own opinion of the matter. It seemed foolish, to be glad about the ability to hook the edge of a sock over her toes and reach down long enough to expand it and slide it over her foot without vertigo kicking in, or her body feeling like it was falling due to lack of spatial awareness. Sam hoped it was something, some sort of sign of improvement. Really, socks, Sam thought, were indicative of her main problem. At 5:27 in the morning, it had hit Sam that her main problem was that she didn't have the skills, or the tools, anymore, to make choices for herself, on her own.

Staring as someone started up their car and drove off, Sam found the word she hadn't been able to locate in the dark of the night. She had lost her independence. The word sounded strangled, even in her mind, and Sam gasped, turning her thoughts away quickly. She was not ready to go there. There was no way to describe the shaft of fear that ripped through in that moment, and Sam was taken aback by it. She had not expected fear.

That feeling highlighted another fact. Sam knew she'd lost the ability to predict what was going to happen the next day, the luxury of making plans for herself based on her prediction of future circumstances. She hadn't thought she'd be getting out of the hospital today, the proud owner of a dog shaped nebulizer. It used to be that she knew what each day was going to bring, school, church, ranch work, in varying orders. Not so anymore. Now, Sam had to be prepared for constant change, constant fluctuations, even tiny ones. Her circumstances were longer than the two hours she felt normal, or the five hours she slept. As she mulled it over, she came to see that it was the tiny influences that angered her, the pain in her right hip from sitting too long, the blinding headache that would recede only to make her head throb, because such things had never impacted her so strongly before. Over and over the days were the same, and yet, time didn't feel fluid anymore, not like it used to. There were no patterns, nothing she could count on in an uncertain present, let alone the future.

Moreover, time felt restrictive, like she was playing beat the clock. She was racing against herself, racing to prove to her father that she was well enough to come home, to the doctors that she was doing better. If only, Sam mused, as she transferred into the wheelchair, she could believe the lie herself.

That said, the clock in which she needed to make these choices were running. School was going to start soon. Where would she be going? Where would she be living? She felt so uncertain, in both her own abilities and the things coming down the pike. So much felt beyond her control in ways that it never had before. In many ways, even her reactions to things felt hampered, because she was not even in control of her brain, or where she went, or who helped her. Sam frowned, and looked up to see Jake coming into the room, with a smile on his face.

_Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear_

_And I can't help but ask myself how much I'll let the fear_ _take the wheel and steer_

_It's driven me before, it seems to have a vague h_ _aunting mass appeal_

_Lately I'm beginning to find that I should be the one behind the wheel_

_Drive,_ Incubus

Sam went directly from the hospital room to the therapy ward. Jake got to come along, because, even though he'd gone home to bathe, he'd come back, with a spring in his step that Sam found odd given his obvious exhaustion. Sam was assigned to the pediatric PT ward because sixteen was code for "not yet eighteen" in the eyes of the medical bureaucracy, even though Sam wondered if the rehab facility knew that sixteen was closer to eighteen than it was to eight. Therefore, Sam and Jake made their way silently over to the bank of elevators and rode it down several floors. After a moment of easy silence, Sam spoke, "You can stay...if you want."

He nodded, and Sam again surprised at how relieved he seemed. Jake for his part, was glad to be able to watch, to be with her. He absolutely hated walking away from her, never quite able to assure himself that it wouldn't be two months until he saw her again. Time seemed to be messing with his brain. He knew it wasn't rational, but his feelings were his feelings, and his perceptions were his own. He couldn't deny that his heart raced and his palms sweated every single time he walked away from her.

Thankfully, he didn't feel anything other than interest as they walked into the the large room. Jake felt a second of something unnameable, as he realized he was being admitted into a part of her life that had been previously denied him. There were so few parts of their lives that were separate that it took Jake a moment to understand that what he was feeling was wonder. After another second, he realized that it was simply a more intense pang of something he felt every time she wrinkled her nose in reaction to some thing or other that she was mulling over. Jake knew what it was then. He was learning something new about Sam, discovering some facet of her that he'd previously been blind to.

He stopped short as she did, wishing for the millionth time that she'd swallow her pride and let him push the chair. "Welcome to the seventh circle of Hell."

A girl near them, who looked to be about 13, giggled, nodding shyly.

The room before him looked nothing like hell. It was colorful and bright in a seemingly intentional way. On the far end, away from the reception area where they were, a mirrored wall dominated the space, making it look large and a bright. The barre in front of the mirror was being used by four people. A voice interrupted his musings. "Well, Sam. We can't do much today, but a good stretch might help you. Come on back. You got our cancellation spot today."

Sam nodded at a tall blonde woman wearing khakis and a grey polo shirt with the rehab's emblem on it, "Thanks, Kyla. Come on, Jake."

"Oh, sure, your friend can come." Kyla added quickly. Sam nearly rolled her eyes, the implication was all too clear in Kyla's tone. The bubbly blonde was glad to see "involvement" from someone that Sam "initiated." Sam had snuck a look at her file, one night when some aide had left the computer open, and the case notes clearly had expressed concern to the nurses about Sam's "isolation and reticence to get involved in activities at the residential" facility. Whatever. She was here to work, not make friends.

At Kyla's bidding, Jake sat on the other side of the mat, cross legged, facing Kyla. Sam grinned at his composure amid chaos. Addressing Kyla, she asked, "What's our game plan, then?"

"Stretches, maybe some balance work." Kyla mused, "We're not getting your heart rate up today. If you have trouble breathing, we stop."

She asked Sam to lay back, once she was up on the raised mat. "What we're going to do now is start with your legs, your hamstrings, your hip flexion and extension. We'll rotate so you can stretch out your trunk. Those beds downstairs are awful."

Jake watched Sam's face and looked around when she glared at him mulishly for staring at her. Jake turned his gaze a set of parallel bars, next to mat tables on the floor, most striped red and yellow like the ketchup and mustard bottles at fast food restaurants, one pale green. Interspersed between equipment like treadmills, were more mats, some with bolsters and wedges sitting on the edges.

Jake looked around taking in the murals on the ceiling, careful not to stare at the patients in the room. A scant few were older, like Sam. Most, though, were small children. Their wheelchairs and other pieces of adaptive equipment were colorful and many were playing games, it seemed, as part of the therapeutic process. One little girl made silly faces at him until her mother admonished her. The levity in the place seemed really strange, given that Sam had called this place hell.

Jake watched as the session began in earnest. He was struck again by Sam's strength. She was attacking everything she was asked to with blinding intensity, a single minded focus. Sam was prodded and encouraged to control her movements for some stretches, and was encouraged to be passive in others. In every movement, though, Jake could see what it was costing her. Sam Forester was the strongest, most powerful woman he'd ever come across. Until this moment, though, he'd had no idea to the depth of those facts.

Now he saw it for what it was. It wasn't passion that drove her now, he realized, and it wasn't interest. It was steel and fire, a raw determination he rarely saw from her outside of life and death situations up home. The light in her eyes was sharp and it sent a chill down his spine.

He was interrupted, as the young girl who'd made faces at him threw at bean bag at him, and even as her mother apologized, Kyla said, "Looks like Sally's decided you're her friend."

Jake smiled at Sally. Her mother prompted, "Say 'Sorry...' Sally."

Sally complied, but with a grin that informed them all as to her sincerity.

After a moment wherein Jake stared at Sam through the mirror on the wall, Kyla said, "Okay, now sit up."

She backed away as Sam struggled to sit up, from being supine for the extended period. "You have to do this yourself, Sam." Kyla said.

Sam huffed as she sat up, pushing upward with her right arm, "You don't need to tell me things I already know."

Jake spoke, "Okay, Wyatt." It was either speak, or reach out and assist her. The former seemed safer than the latter, given Kyla's hands off approach. He knew that for Sam, doing what she could was a matter of pride, but the fact that she couldn't even sit up from lying down without considerable effort was shocking. At once, he was both proud of her for grabbing the bull by the horns, as it were, and doing this with her humor intact.

Jake also felt a staggering sense of amazement. The world thought men like him had grit. He realized that not even a man who spent a lifetime in the saddle working his land, facing down mother nature with nothing but his saddle and rope burns had a thing on Sam Forester, or little Sally with her glittery sneakers and bright blue glasses. She was all of three or four, and yet, she worked hard, for all that her activities were disguised as play.

"Funny." Sam huffed, but she was sitting at this point and Kyla stepped away to grab large ball off of a rack above the refrigerated chests along one wall. Returning quickly, she helped Sam to sit on it and encouraged her to "find her center."

Once Sam felt secure, Kyla produced two stacks of plastic cones and asked Sam to reach for one or the other and create new stacks while maintaining her balance. Sam planted her feet, and Jake thought he saw her toes come up for the briefest of moments as she tilted her hips to stay on the ball. He would have smiled, if Sam hadn't frowned and tramped her toes down determinedly. After Sam took all the cones from the pile on the right with her one hand and switched it to the other, placing the cone on the other pile with the other hand, Kyla moved her arms wider apart to make the activity progressively more challenging.

"This is good for you to try at home, Sam, on a regular chair, if you want, because it will help you regain balance and muscle coordination." Kyla spoke, "When your brain was injured, you lost a lot of the skills you had, but you're doing so great at this."

Sam didn't reply, and neither did Jake, though he gathered that Kyla had been speaking for his benefit. The session moved along. They were left off to the side as Sam was working in the parallel bars. She spoke a little as she moved more freely within the confined space, repeating movements over and over, and he replied some, but mostly, he just counted the steps she took in his head. A woman walked by during a period of silence, "Oh, Sam. Good to see you here."

"Hello." Sam said, almost warily. There was a note of dislike in her voice, but obviously the woman didn't hear it as she smiled at both of them and looked at her clipboard before she spoke brightly. Sam hated this woman, this grandmotherly woman. Why? Who was she? What had she done? 

The woman said, "Listen, when you're done here, stop by my office."

"Okay." Sam agreed and went back to what she was doing. In another few moments, Sam lowered herself into the chair like the ones in the reception area that Kyla placed at the opening of one end of the bars. "I'm done."

"Yep. You are." Kyla smiled, as she approached from a few feet away. "You did well. I'll get your chair."

Sam hastened, placing her hands on the bar to pull up, "I can walk." She nearly fumbled, leaning into the bar. 

Kyla just parked the chair in front of Sam. "Try to practice a transfer, okay?"

Sam did as she was bid. Jake stepped back and observed, trying to detach from emotions that swirled within him at the fatigue he saw in Sam's face, under the sheen of perspiration and discomfort.

First, she leaned down from the chair and flipped up footplates, steadying her balance by placing her other hand on the seat of the wheelchair, returning her torso to a normal sitting position slowly, inhaling as she obviously dealt with her perception changes.

Then, she put her dominant hand down on the armrest of the chair she was sitting and pushed up slowly, to a standing position, moving her hands up to the parallel bars once holding onto the chair made her back start to arch. Sam turned by placing her left hand on the same bar as the right one while simultaneously pivoting. After turning around, she felt for the wheelchair behind her with her right hand, by grabbing onto the armrest, and lowered herself to sitting, Kyla added, "Remember your belt."

Sam swung the footplates back into place with an audible clunk and soundly clicked the belt in question into place on her lap. Kyla backed up Sam, after asking for permission, and stepped aside, reminding her about other appointments with a cheerful goodbye.

They left the room and Jake asked. Sam didn't say anything as he took over pushing the chair as they left the room. "Where we heading, Brat?"

"Turn left here, and right by the elevator." She said, "Then there should be an office."

They found the office, and Sam knocked. "Come in! Oh, hello, Sam. Your chair is ready." Jake's heart stopped. He thought the chair wasn't permeant. Alright, he thought, his mind spinning, okay. They'd deal. This wasn't a huge deal, not if they didn't make it one. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't. As long as she lived as fully as possible, the chair could be a tool for her, and nothing more. But Jeez, he knew this discussion was crushing her.

Sam looked defeated, even as Jake tried to school his features. He did not think the woman saw the utter despair in Sam's eyes. She had learned to hide things so well, he almost missed it himself.

 The lady added, "Now, you know it isn't permanent, Samantha." She opened a file, and passed Sam some papers to sign, which she did listlessly, "You're giving this back. This is a demo chair, a loaner, if you will."

Sam passed the papers back and the woman continued. Her tag read Carol, Jake saw. Carol Jenkins, PT/OT Department, Equipment Specialist. Carol continued, "Come back this way, over to the seating clinic, and we'll get you all set up."

She led them to a smaller version of the PT room, with a series of mat tables that opened to a large closet. She wheeled out a chair, and Jake saw Sam's gaze fall from where he was sitting next to her, she in the chair, he on the edge of the mat. He reached out to put a reassuring hand on her knee, but drew it back as he saw his hand was trembling.

Carol discussed the chair in front of them, in a chipper tone, using words like camber and stability. Jake studied it critically as Carol adjusted it for Sam, raising the footplates and adjusting the angle of the back with a simple set of tools based off of measurements and Sam's softly given feedback. The new chair was low to the ground, with anti-tip guards and nobby wheels that reminded Jake of bike tires. Small wheels were splayed out on the front, and the backrest and cushion were black and rigid, almost plastic underneath what Jake thought looked like black netting.

"Now Sam, you can still do your walking, but this is much more suited to your needs than the other chair, just until you're back up on your feet." Carol rose, and looked at both of them, with a critical eye, making sure Sam was squared away "Any problems, you can call my card, or stop in, being that you're here most days."

_Well the good ol' days may not return a_ _nd the rocks might melt and the sea may burn_

_I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings c_ _oming down is the hardest thing_

_Well some say life will beat you down, b_ _reak your heart, steal your crown_

_So I've started out, for God knows where_

_I guess I'll know when I get there_

_Learning to Fly,_ Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers

In the car, Sam studied the dash in front of her. It had taken them both a good ten minutes to break down the chair enough to fit it in the trunk. He wished they'd had the Scout as Sam had fiddled with the footrests and handed them to him. Sue had left her car here and taken the train to work so they'd have a way to get home after she'd visited before Sam was released. Jake began, "Brat?"

"Yeah?" She asked, as he backed out of the parking space.

"You..." Jake asked, hesitantly, "okay?"

"No." She started again, "Yes. I'm just...angry. I didn't think I would need the demo chair, and I'm so tired and I didn't do all that much and I just...I'll never be the person I was. Who am I?"

Jake whispered softly, "Brat."

"I know, Jake." She admitted. "I know."

"I'm...really..." Jake hesitated, completely unsure as to how to continue.

"What?" Sam asked, curiously.

Jake found his words. "I want to know how you're feeling."

He wanted to know how she was...feeling? Sam asked with some shock, "What?"

Jake nodded, as though talking about their innermost feelings was normal. Still, he spoke as hesitantly as he must have been feeling. "Just..I can't read your mind with this, and I need to know."

Sam thought for a second. "Total honesty?"

"Have you ever hidden things before?" Jake asked, obviously thinking about every interaction they'd had over the years. Sam sitll felt a little off, about how forthright she'd been with him during their childhood, but he seemed to accept it as normal. Jen had told her once that she was too forthcoming with Jake, and since then, she'd tried, without much luck, to install a verbal filter around him. 

"No." She looked at him, throwing her words out in a rush. "Okay. I'm tired. I'm so tired. I'm tired of people being around us all the time. I'm tired of not feeling like I have the right to live my life. Like..." Sam hesitated, "Edye is always this is wrong, that is wrong. And I start to feel wrong. I feel suffocated. Suffocated. Am I still me?"

"You'll always be Sam Forester." He asked, "Who else would you be?" Jake shook of a unformed thought that, while she would never be anyone else, that there was something...something...wrong with what he'd just asked her. 

"Do you remember when I.." She changed her mind, and spoke, "I have nothing that's mine, anymore. Nothing that's just for me. Everything is an extension of therapy, a tool. Walking, eating, sleeping. It all has some meaning now. Meaning and importance that it never did. I just want to sit on a chair because I want to, and not because I'm working on balance." Sam's voice was thick with emotion.

There was always some deeper meaning to her actions now, especially that she constantly felt on display, in public, even in private spaces, now that there was nursing care in the house. Her home, however temporary, wasn't private, because it was invaded daily, and became a workspace. There were no lines of public and private, and that hurt so much, caused her so much angst. Nothing was just...hers, anymore. Not her showers, not what she wore. Everything in her formerly private world, felt so exposed, so public.

"I'm yours, Sam." Jake said. He had always been hers, and hearing those words broke down a wall she had not known she was trying to fortify. Something inside of her took root in the simple honesty, the simple truth in the words he admitted. They were meaningful, but there was no hesitation, no inflection beyond a deep understanding of what was really being reaffirmed between them. I am yours, you are mine, and we have each other. I give myself to you, past, present, and maybe, future, broken and tattered as they are. 

"I know." She squeezed his hand, the one that rested on the center console, as they coasted down the road, in agreement. "But I need to be mine, too." She needed to own her own place in the world. He needed to do the same for himself. They could help each other to do that, in their own ways, Sam knew. 

These few minutes of alone time had done so much for her, and she felt slightly panicked, knowing that time was rapidly closing. She'd almost felt normal when they were trying to stuff the chair in the trunk of Sue's compact car, as they'd been working as team, focusing on working together. It was in that moment that Sam felt some part of her wound heal. They were working together. There was still something she could offer him. The world, her mind corrected. There was still something she could offer the world.

Jake was, yes, taking care of her, but she was doing the same for him, somehow. They had approached a task as a team, and gotten it done, and in many ways it had felt like they were themselves again, banter and all. It was glorious, because there was no one to hamper or interpret their interactions. It struck Sam that a third set of eyes seemed to throw them off in so many ways. This morning, they were just them, and despite the context of their interactions, the simple peace she'd found, riding in an elevator and crossing a parking lot, had felt wonderful.

She'd felt a moment of giddy elation she'd tried to tramp down, knowing that in some small way, she and Jake were just them again. So, she'd had to move fast or risk being trapped in the elevator, and had to use the yellow curb cuts, adding time to her journey across the parking lot, but none of that fazed her in the moment. It had been between her and Jake. In other words, whatever had gone right or wrong, had been private and solely theirs.

"Oh, Brat." He didn't know what to say. He'd rather hoped she would find some comfort in being his, just as he did in being hers, but he knew better than to say that, not when he couldn't define what that meant to him in a way that didn't make him sound like a caveman or twist the definition of their relationship oddly. She'd always belong to herself, it wasn't that he wanted to deny her her autonomy or independence. She was, and would always be, her own person. Maybe that was why he'd reacted that way, internally. It hurt to see her doubting her own autonomy and personhood.

"Yeah," she scoffed, interpreting his silence for good or ill, "attempting life's real questions when I can't even manage to function."

"I...think you're going to be fine, Brat." He wouldn't let it happen any other way. "And if you aren't, I'll do something crazy, like take up surfing, and everyone will talk about the cowboy turned surfer and not about you."

"Fine, but you'd have to change your name." She asserted, and her contemplative mood faded.

The bargain was struck with his agreement. "Deal."

_Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself_

_Follow your heart and nothing else_

_And you can do this, oh baby, if you try_

_All that I want for you, my son, is to be satisfied_

_Simple Man,_ Lynyrd Skynyrd

Jake decided that, come flood or fire, he'd made up his mind. After Sunday, there would be no changing his course of action. Still sticking to his guns required some level of deceit that made him uneasy. He'd had to make up some excuse to step out of the room when he'd gotten the phone call he'd been expecting all day. The man had merely confirmed what the websites had told him, and advised him to put the paperwork in the mail without delay. He'd slipped back inside, and grabbed the envelope, setting off for the mailbox to do as the man suggested.

Around the corner, Jake slid the papers into the mailbox, glad that it was the summer before his sophomore year. He still had time to change his mind, to make this choice. He sighed, knowing his parents wouldn't like his choice. That didn't matter, not really, because he was an adult, though he he had begun to envision a rather tense conversation coming up in his future. Turning from the mailbox at the end of the block, Jake slowly walked south, towards Sue's house. So many of the houses looked like the one on  _Full House_ , and he guessed they were alright, for what they were. It wasn't Darton County, and all Jake could see were bad sidewalks, steep curb cuts, and a total lack of accessibility. How radically his eyes had been opened to the world around him.

He'd told Sam as they went inside after greeting Mrs. Ziller, what he thought of the accessibility in Sue's middle class neighborhood, as she'd nearly tumbled backwards down the steep steps. She'd nodded, and inhaled deeply. "Yeah. But at least they let me out of rehab."

He'd nodded, knowing that five weeks after coming out a medically induced coma, they'd cleared her to come home to Sue's. He'd shown up two weeks after that. It just ticked him off, how incorrectly the world was set up, how different their world was because of the accident, and how much Sam had suddenly become different in the eyes of the world. People looked at Sam, but they didn't see her. They saw the chair, even in places deemed for the "sick" like the hospital. The doctor's ignorant words still made him angry. He wondered how often he'd been exactly like the doctor, wondered how many times he'd been as blind as most everyone in the world seemed to be.

People didn't see Sam's green eyes and crazy hair, or the dusting of freckles across her nose. They saw nothing, and made no effort to see. He felt guilty, for having been so much like that in the past. Punks who would have looked her over with interest now looked the other way. That made his life easier, sure, in some ways. He didn't need those punks seeing what he saw in her, her stubbornness, her joy, but he knew her confidence had taken a hit.

Still, none of them mattered. He and Sam had sat in the car, once they were back at Sue's, and just talked. They'd just talked, like they always had, while watching the wild horses or driving into Darton. In some ways, the car was their safe zone. They had a tacit agreement that either of them could say whatever they needed to, in the car, and it wouldn't be brought up or repeated unless the other person brought it up, or they were in the car again. Some issues Sam had been considering, like her schooling and trying to go home soon, had been brought out into the light.

They'd made no real decisions, because they couldn't, but they had talked, worked through some feelings and proposed ideas about how to work towards setting up some goals. Sam had said she, which Jake took to mean they, needed to sit down with Wyatt and talk, face to face. Jake hoped it would be soon. He needed to tell Sam about his own plans, but wanted things to go okay in talking to the man, wanted to have both options come to fruition before he made a decision one way or the other. He wanted to have both options before him before he made the call, and jinxed his chances, as superstitious as that sounded.

Maybe it was a bit of a lie to say he wanted to talk over his schooling when he knew that his own mind was made up. He was resolute in his choice. It was his, at the end of the day, and he would make it, following not only his heart, but also his morals. Luckily for him, they both wanted and needed the same thing. He hoped his parents would see it the same way.

Mrs. Ziller had given them a thousand odd looks for sitting in the car, but had watered her porch plants, and turned around to go inside. She was back outside when Jake left for his walk, and he called to her, "Hello, Mrs. Ziller."

"Hello." She replied, pausing in her task, "You young folk are welcome up to my loft for tea anytime."

Jake nodded and thanked her for the invitation. Mrs. Ziller was a kind lady. She, according to Sam, brought food down several times and had sat with Sam on the porch a time or two. He liked her for that, as well as for the music he could sometimes hear floating down from the studio apartment above Sue's larger apartment. She seemed to be omnivorous in her musical tastes, with a leaning towards the music of her youth. Bobby Vinton and The Mamas and the Papas would never grow stale, at least not to Jake. When he returned, Mrs. Ziller was off someplace, or at least, not talking to her plants, and he stood for a moment, wondering how he might tell Sam about his change of plans.

He came back inside to find Regina knitting in the recliner, and Sam sitting on the couch. "Dad called." She said, looking up from a book he knew she'd read a thousand times, as Regina quit the room, looking wary. He wondered why Sam was reading it again. They'd had a good afternoon, but somehow, she was stressed. That book was like her security blanket, a soother, its worn cover proclaiming how often Sam turned to it.

"Oh?" He sat down next to her, causing the couch cushion to rise. She leaned toward him because of the tilt to the couch, and her issues with equilibrium. He took a moment to feel her against him before being a gentleman and assisting her in sitting up.

"Yeah." Sam began, closing the book and avoiding his gaze, "They want you home. Summer's busy. Dad's got a new case." She said glumly. "Pretty cool, he told me."

"Alright." Jake said. He didn't see why this was making her sad. They'd talked not three hours ago about it, and them going home soon, at least for a time, was the best they could have hoped for. "We'll get packed." He made move to stand up, but her hand on his arm stopped him.

"He didn't say anything about me." She shook her head. "It's time, Jake."

"No." He insisted, his voice feeling far away, "Not yet."

"We've had fun, the last week or so. But we were on borrowed time, and you know it." She spoke softly, chiding herself, "It was silly of me to forget."

Jake opened his mouth to speak but Regina called out, having gone into the kitchen when he came in, unaware of the discussion in the other room, "Sam. Mind filling out my sheet?"

Sam rose, wobbily, and schooled her voice. "Sure."

He couldn't follow her, continue this discussion in front of Regina. Regina had no need to be involved in their personal issues, but he did need more information before he started shaking. This was not happening. Jake walked towards the guest room, and picked up the phone on the nightstand. He dialed his phone number.

"Mom?" He asked when someone picked up, knowing that Dad hated the phone as much as he did, and Quinn likely wasn't inside.

"Hi, Jake!" His mother said, "How was your day?"

"Fine, until about ten minutes ago." He said, sitting on the edge of the bed. At her urging, he explained what Sam had told him.

"Jake. We understand your position. We do." Mom insisted, "Dad and I...want everybody home and happy. We do. But, at the end of the day, Wyatt is in charge of Sam, and we can't bring Sam home. No matter how much we want to do that." His mother sighed, "And, yes, we want you home. Wyatt is willing to let you work your own cases this summer."

"That's a bribe." He spat. "I won't take it." What kind of man did she think she'd raised, that such a bribe would work? What kind of fool did they all think he was? Was Wyatt really stooping that low? Surely, surely, some vestige of sense within him cried out, surely he was missing something here. Something had to have been lost in translation.

"Jake, please. Talk to Wyatt. Work this out." She begged, "We will support you staying for a few days longer, but it needs to be agreed upon by everyone."

"I agree." He said through a tightening jaw, "Sam agrees." They all agreed. There. Simple. Done. Case closed.

"This coming from the little girl who tried to stuff herself into your suitcase when you went to visit your cousins." Max laughed, "You two aren't being rational. That's why you have parents, to help you, honey."

"Wyatt isn't doing much to help Sam right now." Jake pointed out the truth as he saw it.

"I won't have you speaking poorly of Wyatt." Max chided, "We don't know his pain, his circumstances."

Jake reminded his mother, "He doesn't know ou..."He broke off, the word unfinished, "Sam's, Mama, and he doesn't know mine." Wyatt had the power to do something. Jake was doing all he could, and yet, he felt helpless. It wasn't enough. He felt consistently at the mercy of others, an odd feeling for Jake, who knew that it was in his DNA to fight for them, somehow, even though he didn't analyze the notion in the moment. Additionally, for his mother to forget that Sam was the one who was the one doing the real work in this situation was ludicrous.

He was cut off before he could gently inform her of that, as Mom did not purse that avenue of discussion. Instead, she asked pointedly the question that she'd been circumlocuting the last few times they spoke,"When can we expect you?"

Jake felt trapped. In her phrasing, there was no way for him to hedge. The guilt that he felt at being torn between honoring his mother's wishes and doing what he felt was right was staggering. He forced a word out from a suddenly dry mouth, "Tomorrow..." and gently hung up the phone, covering his face with his hands.

_Come mothers and fathers t_ _hroughout the land_

_And don't criticize w_ _hat you can't understand_

_Your sons and your daughters a_ _re beyond your command_

_Your old road is r_ _apidly agin'_

_Please get out of the new one if_ _you can't lend your hand_

_For the times they are a-changin'_

_The Times They are A-Changin',_ Bob Dylan

 


	7. Regular Guy

_All my bags are packed I'm ready to go._

_I'm standing here outside your door._

_I hate to wake you up to say goodbye._

_But the dawn is breaking it early morn._

_The taxi's waitin he's blownin his horn._

_Already I'm so lonesome I could die._

_Leavin' on a Jet Plane_ , John Denver

Jake planned to be on the road shortly after Regina arrived for the day. He greeted her as she entered the kitchen, moments after Sue left for work. Jake had volunteered to do up Sue's cup and bowl. Regina stopped short as he washed the last dish, throwing a dish towel overtop the dish colander to allow the contents therein to dry.

"Hello." Regina said, setting down her bag. Inside it, Jake knew, was not only her knitting, but also various medical tools. She kept a close eye on Sam's respiration and blood pressure, now. He forced his eyes away from her bag, wondering how something with cats on it could make him feel such a sting of hate.

"Morning." Jake greeted, trying to go back to work,"There's coffee."

She availed herself of a mug, as Jake wiped the crumbs from the table, and observed, "You're certainly up with the sun." There was a question clear within her observation.

"I've been getting up before six in the morning since I was seven, maybe eight." Jake shrugged, tossing the sponge into the sink after wiping the table.

"Oh." Regina said, slowly, "Why?"

He grinned. "Witch likes her breakfast on time." It seemed simpler than trying to explain to her a way of life she could never truly understand, and he really didn't have the time, anyway.

"You country folk..." Regina said. "If my Rollie had gotten up before noon at your age, why, I'd've never worried a day in my life."

"Speaking of home." Jake said, slowly, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, and holding it awkwardly, "I'm going."

"Hm?" Regina asked, slowly, her honest question clear in her tone.

"I should have left twenty minutes ago." Jake said, collecting his keys from a bowl on the counter. "Bye, Regina."

"Goodbye?" Regina followed him from the kitchen to the entryway, "Do you mean to tell me that you're sneaking out of here like some Coyote Ugly?"

"I don't understand the reference." He said, turning to face her. He really had no clue what she was talking about, but he'd turned around, as there was a level of concern in her voice that no gentleman, no person of any integrity, could ignore.

"Do you have a TV?" She cried, " Miss Sam will..."

Jake cut her off, the strain of trying to maintain this facade was killing him. Why couldn't she just let him go? He was trying so hard not to think, not to analyze what he was doing, and Regina wanted information. "I can't wake her up. She..." He began anew, "I..."

"Oh, I see." Regina gave him an assessing gaze, "I see." After sipping coffee, she began, "Look, son. Take it from an old lady who knows, don't you be chicken about this."

"If I'm to make it back, Regina, I have to go." Jake clarified. He had to go. He had to go. He had to, before he called Dad back and told him he wasn't coming. He reached into his pocket, his cell phone was right there. All he had to do was press two buttons, say one word, and he wouldn't have to do this. He could get out of this still.

"Back?" She repeated, quizzically.

"Regina." Jake said slowly. "I'll be back."

"Right." She said. When he left, she added, staring as he pulled away from the curb, "Let's hope so, for all our sakes."

It was cowardly, but Jake could not wake Sam up to say goodbye. He wasn't man enough to look her in the eye, and tell her he was leaving her. So what if it wasn't for long? It was long enough. It was long enough that his heart pounded. He absolutely hated driving away without her, unable to prove, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wouldn't be two months until he saw her again. He could not know.

There were so many things that could go wrong, between now and the next moment he saw her. So many things had gone so wrong that he could not rely on anything so fluid as fact. The only fact he could cling to was the sense of horrible wrong that filled him as he drove away. There was no denying the fact that he knew deep within his soul. It was wrong to leave her. He nearly turned around again, after he missed the turn off for the interstate.

_I can be alone, yeah, I can watch the sunset on my own..._

_I can be alone, yeah, I can watch the sunset on my own..._

_I can be alone, I can watch the sunset on my own..._

_Merry Happy_ , Kate Nash

Sam knew it was foolish, but she couldn't will herself to stop staring at the note before her. She knew what it said. She blinked, hoping that the sleep in her eyes had lied. She knew Jake wouldn't be back for a few days, given the note that she'd seen next to her. It read:

_B,_

_Went home. Be back soon._

_J._

Well, wasn't that the most informative note ever? A telegram could have contained more information. Smoke Signals. Morse Code. Nevertheless, she rebuked herself for not being able to stop looking at it, tracing the letters of his handwriting. Jake had always had nice handwriting. Most guys, like Quinn, had chicken scratch that looked like either a fifth grader was still learning to write or a serial killer writing out their confession in angry strokes on a yellow legal pad.

That wasn't so with Jake. She had once spent hours, when she was learning to write, to make her letters like his, but she'd never been able to do it. He could handle a pencil or a fountain pen with such skill, that her own writing seemed childish, and she was an artist. Or, her mind kicked in, she had been Still, no matter what he was writing with, his writing had always been swooping and sure. His handwriting was everything he'd always been, warm, strong, and woefully, woefully, lacking in information.

Sam crumpled up the note, only to feel a surge of remorse at her inability to control her impulses. Her injury reared its ugly head once again. She'd done her best to reign in her impulsivity, bite her tongue, swallow her urges, but a girl had to have a safety valve. She smoothed out the note quickly, pressing out the crinkles, kicking herself internally. She placed the note back under the pillow she'd found it on, and blindly reached out.

She managed to sit up with only two tries this morning, and to swing her right foot out without too much difficulty. Her left was another story, but soon, she was sitting on the side of the bed, her feet dangling over the edge.

Details began to take on meaning to her. There, on the nightstand sat her cell phone, and a half drunk bottle of water. It was cool to the touch. She'd woken up in the middle of the night, or what she thought was the middle of the night, mouth dry from the medications and tried to get up. It was no use waking up Sue, after all the woman needed sleep and Jake was in the room. She'd just started to try to shove Jake's arm off of her torso, when he'd reached behind him and placed the uncapped bottle in her hands. "Here."

"Thanks." She returned, downing half the bottle, breath thundering from her body after she stopped drinking, sated with water but starved for air.

"Hm..." He'd acknowledged her thanks, taken the water from her hands, and she'd fallen back to sleep knowing that he'd be there. Her eyes had fluttered open later. Jake's hand had been rubbing her back. Sam recalled sinking into his touch, as though it would never end, and fallen back asleep. She realized, now, that those soft, reassuring touches, ones so innocent in their intent, but so potent in her mind, had been his goodbye.

That was yet another thing she could thank the injury for. Her senses were so screwed up that she was reading things into his touches that weren't honestly meant to be there. She felt comfort, security, and flashes of something she couldn't name when Jake touched her. His touch lingered on her skin, and when she closed her eyes, she could feel it still, warm and active against her nerve endings.

Everyone's touch, she found, had a unique way of feeling. Edye's felt metallic, and sharp, tight. Regina's touch was kind, quick, and often faded the fastest of anyone. Sue's was warm, like coffee in the air, lingering, overpowering most other touches that she came across throughout the day. Jake's, though, felt like sparkles against her skin, light and bubbly, almost like a good soap, washing away the icky aftertaste other people's touches left on her body. She did her best to ignore how messed up her senses were, but there were times that she did call up his touch in her mind, mostly when her senses betrayed her.

Maybe that made her a masochist, she didn't know. She'd never had to find out. Jake was always there, and now he wasn't. Still, Sam pulled his touch forward in her mind, a visceral sensation that comforted her. She needed comfort sometimes. Was it weak to admit that? She thought maybe it was.

She needed comforting when the world got overwhelming. In rehab, they'd taught her all kinds of crazy things to control the sensations her brain misidentified from repetition to blocking to redirection to control the misidentification, or rather he incorrect reactions to incorrect interpretations. Well, it wasn't exactly misidentification. It was sort of like, her brain's volume meter was broken.

Things that should have felt soft felt loud. Things that felt loud were in actuality, quite soft. Volume. Light. Sounds. Noise. But what upset Sam the most was the sensations of movement that seemed so incorrect. She often felt like she was falling, even though she was steady on her feet. She often felt like the wheelchair was tipping when she went over curbs or bumps. It was yet another thing her body was blowing out proportion, just like it had in assessment of Jake's touches.

Sometimes, when Sam's skin felt so tight over her bones, like it was pressing into her to the point that she would explode or implode, Jake would hold her, press his arms around her and she'd withdraw into herself, knowing that she'd be safe when she came back, as she often did at night. Nighttime was when she decompressed. She didn't think he knew.

Back at rehab, there had not been that luxury of hiding anything. Matrona had understood all to well why Sam stared at the wall for hours on end, when the aides, therapists, and nurses let her, that is. Matrona had been the one to tell her how to handle the sensory issues she was feeling, and for that, Sam would always be grateful to her temporary roommate. Matrona had taught her to withdraw, when she could, and lie about it, even to herself, when she couldn't.

Sam slid down from the bed, ignoring the brush of the carpet under her feet, even as she wanted to wiggle her toes and spend ages discerning why it felt so nice, when usually, she ignored it entirely, blocking out sensations she worried about. She was so tired of being afraid of things like carpet.

The day began before she could berate herself. It would have to, as Regina was bustling through the door, a hesitant look on her face. "Well, Sam! What do you say we go to the park today?"

_You can listen to the engine m_ _oanin' out his one note song_

_You can think about the woman o_ _r the girl you knew the night before_

_But your thoughts will soon be wandering t_ _he way they always do_

_When you're ridin' sixteen hours_

_And there's nothin' much to do_

_And you don't feel much like ridin',_

_You just wish the trip was through_

_Turn the Page,_ Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band

Jake was almost home. He stopped along the way for more gas and bought a candy bar. He ate it, ignoring that he felt sick after doing so. "Sam, pass..." He broke off definitely. He was, after a scant few hours, back to the habits that he knew Mom had wanted to lock him up for having, since the accident. He couldn't ask a person that wasn't there to pass him a stick of gum from the glovebox.

He had to stop it. It wasn't healthy, or normal, to be so attached to her. It wasn't normal, no matter how much they cared for each other. It wasn't normal to talk to her like she was there when she wasn't there. It wasn't as if he could easily forget that he had left her. Still, yet, still, Jake spoke to her like she was there. Was Sam so much a part of his consciousness that it was now unfathomable that she would be anywhere else but by his side?

What was he to say to Mom and Dad? "Yeah. See. I'm doing online classes next semester. Heck Ballard's sure to have space for an intern, and I can't leave again." That would go over a lead balloon, but that's what he was doing. In fact, it was his goal to stop by the sheriff's office on his way towards River Bend.

Jake steeled his spine, gripping the steering wheel. He would stop by and talk to Wyatt. This time, he knew what he would say. There would be no anger on his part, no hurt, no pain. He would not let Wyatt see how much he was hurt and confused by the older man's behavior. He would go to Wyatt Forester hat in hand not out of respect for Wyatt himself, but for Sam's sake.

He planned to make their case logically. The rehab people had said that she could soon be doing less sessions at the center. She would soon, within weeks, they hoped, be beyond needing Regina. She was improving inch by inch, even if she didn't see it herself. Insofar as the distance to their hospital... There would be no issues. There couldn't be.

But if there were, he could darn well force her to get in the car before the two hour drive became an issue. A vision of the tense three minute ride to the hospital on Monday appeared in his mind's eye. Maybe not. Maybe it was too soon to be thinking about this. He would not give Heck his word about being back anytime soon, Jake decided, as doubt reared its ugly head within his soul. This land, land that was becoming increasingly homelike, could be rough and was often unforgiving.

Regardless of the facts that were passing him by on the interstate, he knew within his soul that Sam needed to be home. She wanted to be home. She missed her horses, her animals, Jen. She missed their parents, her father, Grace. She didn't think he knew that she withdrew within herself, but how could he not? How could he not feel that she was gone from him, even as she was physically right next to him?

There was nothing that served as a crueler, starker reminder of what this accident had cost her. There was nothing larger that reminded him of how strong she was. She could face down daily life in the city, one that was so unlike the place she loved, and come back to it, even as he knew that she wished sometimes that this was all a horrible dream, that they'd wake up somewhere, the hayloft maybe, having fallen asleep after going up there to get away from all the people that were at Three Ponies for a cookout. Life was too real, too cruel, for that wish to come true.

His first stop was scary. He parked the truck, and inhaled. Jake felt sick. Here he was, fulfilling a childhood dream. He'd always wanted to work with and for Heck's office, but had never the chance. He had no way to be involved all the way away at school. He'd never seen a way to make his education work with his goals of working up home, but Ballard heckled him every time the man saw him to stop by the second he wanted to get started.

How cruel it was that the worst thing that could happen to Sam was facilitating his dreams. He felt a stab of guilt as that fact hit him. It was absurd, to be doing this. It made him feel like a low coward, to be taking advantage of the situation like this. He was exploiting Sam's pain, her suffering, to get what he wanted, what he didn't have the courage to do on his own. That was the lowest thing he'd ever done, and Jake couldn't bear it. He started the truck again, intending to pull out and leave. This was wrong. There was no other word for what he was about to do. How could he go to Sam and tell her that his childhood dream was coming true, was actually happening, because his mistakes had nearly...taken her from him.

Jake felt a tightness in his throat. He could not cry now. He would leave. He would go. But, what was he to tell Mom and Dad? They needed every ace in the hole to get them on their side. He needed to present this whole thing positively. I'm taking online courses. I'm taking online courses, Mom, to get a head start on working in Darton County. I'm going to finish my degree. He thought of the subtext in the argument. I'm going to do everything you want me to do. I'm going to meet your expectations. But I will not sacrifice my life, my dreams, on the altar of the ambitions you have for me. Of course, they'd see through it, or so they thought. They would assume.

Why, though, did they assume? Why did they assume that he was doing what he was doing for Sam? He was not so noble as to forget himself. He was staying with Sam because he wanted to, because he was a selfish, sinful, fearful, man who couldn't bear being away from her. Jake was weak. He felt weak. He knew he was weak.

It stole his breath, knowing that Sam wasn't beside him. He was staying with her because he liked spending all the time he could with her, because she made him feel things, things that he wasn't really worthy of, but she thought he was. He needed her like he needed air. Hell, he'd go without air if he meant he could be with her always, deep in her soul, so they they never felt anything other than togetherness. She made him feel safe. Sam made him feel whole. His parents didn't see that. They saw what they wanted to see. They said that he was forgetting his own goals, his own dreams. They saw him too differently from what he really was. They thought he was honorable, that he was noble. This wasn't a fairy tale, and the white horse hadn't saved them. He was not noble. He was not good. He was full of fear, but he was honest enough to know what drove him.

_Just an empty place where your love should be_

_I'm sick and tired of walkin' around like this_

_With my heart outside my skin_

_Scared to death we'll never touch again_

_It doesn't get any lonelier than this_

_It doesn't get any lonelier than this_

_And there's no place I can go_

_Just the dusty corners that the shadows know_

_Maybe this is as good as it's gonna get_

_And I'll always be this way_

_Lonelier Than This,_ Steve Earle

Sam hung up the phone resolutely. Jen was tied up with chores. She could not hunt down Jake Ely and find out was going on. No, he'd not been seen passing by. No, he hadn't stopped by to see her. No, Ryan hadn't heard from Mr. Ely that Jake would be in town. Jen sounded angry that she was tied up, busy, even as she told Sam she would like nothing more than to be sleuthing. Sam bit her tongue until it bled, bit it so hard, so that she wouldn't scream at the sister of her soul. She would give anything to be busy. Sam was the opposite of busy.

She was throwing a temper tantrum in her mind. She'd hurled the book they were reading across the room. Sam was envious of him. Jake was home, under the open sky in his mother's warm kitchen with the comforts she didn't have. He didn't, obviously, mean half the things he whispered into her hair.

The whole place felt empty. The room felt cold, and every noise was so loud, every sensation was too much, a common byproduct of stress, or so the therapists had told her. She'd curled up, drawing her aching body into the closest approximation of the fetal position she could manage, even as she couldn't physically bring her knees to her chest anymore.

At the park after therapy, she'd bitten some person's head off. She hadn't meant to. She felt horribly about it. One moment, she'd been sitting in the wheelchair, next to the bench Regina was knitting. She was torturing herself, watching the kids play, seeing their mothers chase after them, wondering if she'd have to give up that, too, all the while praying that the accident hadn't ripped away the one dream she had that she held so dear that she never voiced it aloud.

The next moment, some woman had walked by, saying to Sam, "How lovely to see you out of the house, dear! Good for you for trying!" With that, she'd turned to her partner, and began to talk, looking at Sam as they walked by.

The subtext was clear. The woman thought that if she were in Sam's position, that she would never leave the house, being that her situation was awful, that she was so pathetic. That was about the nicest thing Sam had ever heard, if patronizing and infantilizing was nice, that is. She would gladly put up with the stares and questions from kids, they were only curious. But such a remark from an urban woman barely into her middle age? No dice.

Without thinking, she'd called out, "Good for you, too!" The woman had looked horrified, and Sam had just looked at her plainly as she'd blanched and walked away even faster. Good. She was so not in the mood, but guilt at her response ate at her all afternoon.

She was going insane. Sam couldn't get over how many people existed quite happily in these tiny spaces. Sam wanted to scream, to run, to cry, to run and run and run until there were no more people. There could be no screaming, and no running that was for sure. She had tried so hard.

Going to the park had taken every ounce of energy she had, and she felt horrible afterward for being so petty, when she knew other people were dealing with bigger issues. Was she to be relegated to the sidelines of society? Was she now unfit to be in the world? Was she supposed to feel grateful to that woman, for allowing her entry into public spaces that had been her right? Was she now nothing more than an object for people to use, to marginalize, to objectify to suit their own needs, to make themselves feel superior in their own little worlds that were no better than hers? Where did that lady get off?

Coming back to Sue's, she'd lied again to Regina, saying that she was tired from this morning's session. Regina knew, Sam was sure, that she was lying. Her first lie had been that that woman's remarks hadn't stung. She tried to call Daddy, but he didn't pick up his phone. She wanted her Daddy. He loved her. He thought she was perfect in her own imperfect way.

Except, he didn't think she was strong, capable. He'd sent her away. He didn't want her as a liability. Edye was right. She was a liability, vulnerable to snide remarks and bad lungs. Tears made her wheeze. The sobs that shook her silent body came from nowhere.

Where did that lady get off? Was her own life so terrible that she had to rip down some person she'd never met? She bit her lip again. She would not cry. No one had that kind of power over her.

Still, the tears flowed. She didn't know why she was crying, but cry she did. She cried, and after a while, she felt better. She felt as though the pain had been pushed away. If she could lessen the pain she couldn't explain, maybe Sam could box it away, push it away. She was not a crybaby. Sticks and stones. Sticks and stones, she thought, may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Words will never hurt me, Sam promised herself, even the words he didn't say.

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, o_ _nly darkness every day._

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_   
_And this house just ain't no home a_ _nytime she goes away._

_Ain't No Sunshine_ , Bill Withers

The meeting with Ballard was finally over. Jake stepped out of the man's office, feeling like the man's blue eyes had peered into his soul. He'd obviously read something into the situation. Nodding easily, he passed Jake a packet of papers and told him that a spot was his, though he would not be paid, at least not at first. That worked out okay. Jake had a job, and not being locked into a start date meant he could start when he was able to do so, on the condition that his classes worked out. Ballard had been clear that his schoolwork had to come first.

With that caveat in place, Heck had extended his hand. Jake had taken it. His path was set, once his courses were.

Walking towards the lobby, a voice called out, "Ely!" Jake turned at the sound. Great. Just great.

It was Erwin. Tony Erwin. The grandson of one of Grandfather's buddies, and a real prick all around. He, with his puppy dog face, had been one of the first responders on the scene of the accident. He had...done his job, Jake's mind screamed, as he tried to block the memories of Erwin's expression, of the haunting sounds. He had been doing his job.

Do not hit him. Do not pummel his sympathetic expression into the ground. Do not hit him for bringing over bagels in a basket a few days later. Bagels, like he was eating bagels, bagels, like Sam had died. Bagels. Do not hit a coworker over bagels, his mind pleaded. Do not hit him, and do not pass out.

"Jake." Erwin said, crossing the room. "How's Samantha?"

Fine, he thought. The bagels you brought over healed her right up. She's not in San Francisco alone, and I'm not here, wondering why the fuck you're asking stupid fucking questions. "Fine."

"Good to hear, man!" Erwin said soundly. "Guess we'll be seeing you around here, then?" He eyed the packet in Jake's hand. "I got my start on internship, too. We'll be glad to have you, Jake!"

"Right." He said. Erwin's cinnamon bagels made him vomit. He recalled trying to eat it because Mama forced it on him, only to have thrown it up. He'd thrown it up, and sobbed himself to sleep. He wonder what Erwin would say if he knew that about his lame bagels? They made me sick, Erwin, your dumb assurances made me angry, and your stupid fucking bagels made me sick. "I should..." Jake began, gesturing with the packet towards the door before he bolted.

"Right!" Erwin nodded. "See you, Jake. Hey, feel free to stop by, even if you're not starting right yet. It's good to get out of the house."

Yeah, right. It was good to get out of the house. Sure. "Erwin."

"Bye, Jake." The cop barely two years his senior nodded. How could someone be so jovial? "See ya! I can't wait to see Sam!"

Jake reigned his emotions in as he started the truck again. He was, on some level, gearing up for his meeting with Wyatt and he needed to be calm, not rolling with emotion. Wyatt did not respond to emotion. He, angry as Jake was, missed Wyatt and Grace.

His first stop was Three Ponies. He avoided the house. He needed to see Witch. She was his girl, after all. He called to her with a whistle, and she came flying across the acreage. Her eyes were accusatory. "Hey, Witch."

She seemed to say hello, accepting his touch, as he petted her and breathed in her horsey scent. "Miss you." He choked out. "Want to go see Ace?" She seemed to consent, and they set out for the barn, so he could go grab her tack. She did not to be led. Even after not seeing her for days on end, she followed him as she often did. She trusted him. Witch trusted him, loved him, even as he had abandoned her into Quinn's care.

Quinn hardly knew her like he did, but she was well cared for, even if her exalted standards were not being met to her exacting specifications. God, how he missed her. She knew, though, that she could not come to San Francisco, he hoped. She understood. Witch, for all the facts of her temper and reputation, was the only person who really got the whole thing, without judgement or pity. She understood love, because she felt it. For him. That fact, emotional as he was, nearly brought him to his knees. The comfort he felt as they interacted was astronomical. Witch's knowing eyes settled his stomach. There was no need for pretense around her. Together, they saddled up and headed across the range towards River Bend.

He and Witch crossed the bridge. Witch was confident, excited, even in her ice princess way, to see her friends. Jake was scared, and he had to keep telling himself to keep his hands soft. Dallas came upon him as he dismounted in the yard. "Jake?"

"Dallas." He held onto Witch as he spoke to the man, eager to be near her, though he'd never admit it, not even under the pain of death. "Where's Wyatt?"

"I'm well, too, Son. Thanks for asking." The old man clucked. Dating Grace had obviously made him soft. Still, a stab of remorse hit Jake. He did care about Dallas. The man had taught him much of what he knew about manhood, about being a cowboy. For years, he'd trailed Dallas like a lost hound, learning the things Dad didn't have the spare moments to teach him. It was to Dallas that he'd confessed his desire to be a cop, his desire to one day train horses. "But I'm thinking Wyatt's over at the BLM corrals."

"What?" Jake burst forth with the exclamation. Wyatt had no business with the government. He was the sort that thought they should keep their Washington rhetoric out of things they didn't know about or understand. The man resented outside influences on his land. Why would he be there?

Dallas looked ready to speak, but shook his aged head, "It's not for me to say, Jake." He paused, a look settling onto his face, "No matter what, you bring our Sammy girl home. No matter what." he pleaded earnestly, "You hear me, son? No matter what...shenanigans are going on, you bring her home."

"Dallas?" Jake said, begging for information. The old man looked haunted, as though he was willing Jake to read his mind, read something into this conversation that he could not say aloud.

"It's not my place." He stated, gruffly, taking ahold of Witch's bridle. "I'll see to Witch."

"Dallas?" He took two steps forward.

"I said I would see to Witch." Dallas said. "Have they taught you to talk back to your elders in that godforsaken city?" He walked off with Witch, mumbling about cities and little girls.

Jake wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He looked around, unsure what to do. What did Dallas mean 'shenanigans?' Grace would know. Grace would talk. Although, after that sobering encounter, he might have to turn down her cake. Maybe she'd send some home for both of them. Like as not, she'd load him down with stuff. He'd have to come back to get it though.

He bounded up to the porch. What was going on? The flowers were weedy. The flowers, Grace Forester's pride and joy, were never weedy. He walked in, as was his custom, to the kitchen. There were two dishes in the sink. There were dishes in the sink. God, he prayed, don't let Grace be hurt. She could have fallen ages ago. She could have died. She could be sick. There were dishes in the sink and the counters weren't gleaming. Something was really...

"Grace!" Jake cried out hoarsely when he saw the cake dome. It was empty. "Grace?"

He called again, rushing into the living room, "Grace?" She wasn't downstairs. She wasn't downstairs. His foot was on the bottom stair, ready to rush upstairs, when she appeared before him. Her pressed blouse was rumpled, and her normally gleaming up-do was messy. "Gr-" His voice cracked.

"Jake?" She said, voice hollow.

"Are you hurt?" He begged her, please don't be hurt. Please. Please, God. Anyone else. Me. Not Gram. "Hurt?"

She came down the stairs. Her feet were bare, her denim skirt rumpled as though she had been sleeping. "No." She said, "No."

He followed her into the kitchen, and watched as her face colored for a second. He didn't care about any of the dishes, not when he knew she was okay. "Is Sam...here?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's for the best." She said dully.

"Is it?" He asked softly.

"Oh, land!" She cried, "Is it midday already?"

"Yes." He replied, startled at the change of subject. "It is."

"Oh!" She cried, rushing around. "I have to start dinner. I have to, you see."

"Grace." He tried to soothe her, even as he had no clue what to do. She was pulling out dishes and fixings. He really didn't have time, but... "I'll...do up the dishes for you."

"No, no. You go on home." She shooed him away. "Your mom will want to see you."

"But Gram..." He tried to speak.

"No. This is still my house." She put her hands on her hips. "Go."

"But..." She needed help. She needed to talk. The famous let's sit down and talk it over Grace Forester wasn't talking.

"Go." She said, "Now."

He tipped his hat, formally, even as he wished to hug her. He just wanted her to hug him, and feed him cake, and swear that it would be okay. "May I get Sam's sketchbook?"

She nodded. "It's in the living room. I didn't...have the heart to move it."

He returned with Sam's art kit, her pencils, watercolors, anything she might want in the next few days, and said, "She's okay, Grace. She's still her. She misses you. Loves you. Wants you to be okay." We both do, Jake's mind cried out. She didn't reply.

Sighing, he took up the bag of Sam's things and headed to the barn. He stopped Pepper, who seemed to be moving quickly, working his boots off. "Could you put this up for me? I'll be back later."

Pepper nodded. "Tell her we miss her."

Jake nodded his thanks. Pepper never said stupid things. He only told the truth, even if his language was often too poetic to be normal. Jake didn't see Dallas as he and Witch left to go home again. It was time to face Mom and Dad.

_We're both men here, so why play games?_

_Why don't we call a spade a spade?_

_Man to man_

_Tell me the truth, tell me_

_Were you ever there when she needed you?_

_Man to Man,_ Gary Allen

Jake could not believe that he had missed Wyatt. The whole point of coming up here was to see him. Jake inhaled as Witch flew along, her good mood, uncharacteristic as it was, made him feel slightly better. Maybe he could write Wyatt and... No, Grace would tell him Jake had stopped by. So would Dallas and Pepper. They'd work it out. They'd have to do so. Sam needed to be involved in the conversation, anyway. He should have never come here without her. It felt wrong. It was wrong. He should have never...left her side. 

Witch clambered into Three Ponies and noted that Wyatt was there. Pulling his hat down low, after he turned out Witch, he crossed the yard and entered the house. After sitting down and greeting his mother, Jake got to the point.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"Jake. I...came today to tell you that Sam is going to finish high school in San Francisco." Wyatt was stern, though he didn't meet Jake's eyes.

"And...how does Sam feel about this?" Jake needed information. This had never, never, come up in their discussions. Sam never considered staying as a possibility. Her father had never mentioned it to her on the phone. Jake inhaled. Sam wasn't here. She needed to be here. He felt dirty for discussing their future without her input, like a back room arms dealer.

"The thing is, she doesn't know. And you aren't going to tell her." Wyatt declared, "This is best."

There was no way in hell that Jake wasn't going to tell her every single thing that went down today. Was Wyatt suffering so much that he didn't recall who he was dealing with? They had no secrets.

But, evidently, Wyatt did. His jeans and shirt were pressed, and there wasn't an air of work about them. Suddenly, it made sense why it had looked like Pepper was doing more work. Jake thought it was because of Sam's absence, but... He himself wanted to know where Wyatt was coming from.

Jake reminded him, "She wants to come home."

"This isn't about what she wants." Wyatt replied, "I know what's best."

Jake asked one word, softly, "How?" How could this be happening? How? Sam would know what to say, how to put this conversation on track, how to use words to get it where it needed to be, but Jake didn't have those skills. Now, he knew that he would have to wait to talk to mom and dad together. It was only mom here, and he was mindful of her presence.

"How, what?" Wyatt asked. Oh, so Wyatt wanted to play games. He could go there. Jake didn't want to, but the man was sitting there telling him that he was going to split up his family without asking Sam what she thought about it. Split them up, right. Mom was stunned, silent. He sent her a look of apology, knowing that she wouldn't take too kindly to how this was going down.

"How do you know what's best?" Jake met his gaze, all pretense of ease gone, "Seems to me you don't know anything at all."

"Son, I know Sam wants you around, but don't attempt to tell me you know my daughter better than I do." Wyatt returned.

"I'm not attempting anything, Wyatt." Jake corrected. And really, he wasn't. The comparison was laughable. Wyatt knowing Sam better than he did? What? Maybe, on some level, he did. Wyatt was her father. Jake didn't see Sam as a little girl to be raised, but as a woman to be...He shook his head softly.

"Really?" Wyatt asked, "Seems that way. I know what kind of care Sam needs in this situation."

"You know nothing about this situation, Wyatt." Jake said, tone low, anger in his eyes, "Nothing, do you hear me?" There was a limit to what a guy could take. Wyatt needed to get his own house in order before he came poking into Jake's life, and what he did or didn't know.

"And you know more about it than I do?" Wyatt sounded incredulous. With that question, he found the sorrow underneath the anger welling up. Sadness for Sam, who wanted nothing more than to come home and see her Dad, her horses. Sorrow for Wyatt who was so divorced from what was really going on, by choice or circumstance, he didn't know. Wyatt was, in his core, a decent man, with honor. Jake believed that he believed he was doing what was best for Sam. He wanted the man that meant so much to them both to be involved, he did, but to assume that he knew anything at all because he made phone calls was ludicrous.

"Yes." Jake explained, "I've been there, beside her. I was there when she stood without pain, when she cried for hours and couldn't say why." He paused, unwilling to open up Sam to her father. Wyatt wanted this to be all about him? Fine. Jake could go there. Jake could meet his I and Me statements line for line, point for point. Changing his mind, he asked, "Do you know what the hardest part of her day is? How about the routines her therapists have her on? What about names of the nurses and the schedule?"

Wyatt looked thunderous, but never replied.

"Let me help you then." Let me help you, his mind cried, let me help you understand. You know the medical statistics, you know the reports, Jake's mind cried, but you don't know Sam. She's improving. She's going to beat this. She's stronger than any piece of paper or phone call could quantify, or qualify.Jake finally spoke, settling on factual truths. "She struggles with putting on her socks. They gave her a packet of stretches and have her going on a walk every evening. Their names are Regina and Edye."

Wyatt began, "Just because I don't know the details doesn't mean I don't care. I've respected her space."

"That's bullshit, Wyatt, bullshit you use to placate yourself." Jake spat, "She didn't need space. She needed her family, and you failed her. So when I tell you I know more, I'm only telling the truth." He was only telling the truth, because he'd failed her, too. He'd failed her, too, and Jake knew what that felt like, the crushing despair. If only Wyatt knew that they were all in this together, that they would win or loose together.

"I'm getting angry here Jake. I did the best I could." Jake noted dimly that Wyatt sounded defensive.

So he wanted to go toe to toe on this? Fine. It was what it was. Wyatt had set the terms. He had made this a battle between the two of them. Jake could take him. He admitted the bald truth as he saw it. "And the best you could is dumping her off with your sister-in-law while you can't even bother to drive a few hours when her lungs start to fail." Jake illustrated.

"My choices are none of your concern." Wyatt met his gaze, steel evident in his tone, "Sam understood."

"Hm." Wyatt wanted this to be about him, even when presented with the fact that really, this was about Sam. Fine. Jake sat stoically. "Did she?"

"She said she..." Wyatt began.

Jake cut him off, correcting his interpretation of the facts, "was fine because that's what you want to hear. I was in the room. She wasn't fine, Wyatt." That night had been awful, and she had needed her father. He had needed Wyatt, too, and Wyatt wasn't there. Wyatt wasn't there. And his betrayal of Sam cut Jake to the core. 

"Son, I'm not going to sit here and listen to your accusations." Wyatt warned, but it fell on uncaring ears. Wyatt was not his father. His father had raised him to do three things, listen to his horses, take care of his stock first, and live in sacrifice for those he loved. Wyatt was doing none of those things.

Jake pretended to be calm, even as his heart was breaking, anger and ice flowing in his blood, calling to him to give in, give in and say exactly what he thought. "Just saying it as I see things."

"Seeing as you're speaking your mind, today," Wyatt said, "why don't you say what you want to say."

The floor was his. What could he say? Everything he'd rehearsed had flown out the window. Just as his mouth opened to speak, his gaze flitted over his mother. His angry, hurt filled, words stopped on his teeth. He would honor his mother, honor the way she had raised him.

"You don't get what you're asking us to do." Jake began, as Wyatt's eyebrows rose. Jake calmed, and tried his best to elaborate, "Look, you lost Aunt Lou. And I have no idea what that's like. But what would you do if you knew she was out there, hurting someplace?"

_You think you're gonna take her away_

_Keep thinkin' that her mind is gonna change_

_But I know everything is okay_

_She's gonna listen to her heart_

_It's gonna tell her what to do_

_She might need a lot of lovin'_

_But she don't need you_

_Listen to her Heart,_ Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers

Max saw the look that crossed Wyatt's face, even as Jake did not. Her son was lost in his thoughts, probably trying not to imagine how close he'd come to being in nearly the same boat Wyatt had found himself in, all those years ago. Wyatt, upon hearing Jake's honest words, looked like the world had been split in half, and he was left straddling the two halves as the polar ice cap melted.

Max took the reins, unsure as to where this would end up, and spoke, "Jacob, go on to the barn. We need to talk a bit."

"Sure." There was no joy in her obedience, and Max got the idea that Jake was at war with himself, for even walking away now. The young man rose, and left the room as silence reigned until she heard the door close.

Wyatt gripped his coffee mug, face ashen, and Max said, "Look, he had no right to say that, Wyatt."

The rancher looked up and sighed deeply. "No, the kid's right. You know if Lou were here... You know there would be no question of what Lou would have wanted for her daughter. But she isn't here. She isn't. And I can't..."

"Oh, Wyatt." Max thought that Wyatt had missed the significance of what Jake had been trying to convey, but she didn't think now would be a good time to tell him what she suspected, what she knew. They fell quiet.

"Did we make a mistake, all those years ago?" Wyatt's voice was soft, hesitant.

"Huh?" She was lost in her own thoughts. Max was lost in a swirl of happier times, of all the times Sam refused to go home after a day of playing, or the moments she chased Jake around, even though he complained, or humored her with a smile. She thought about all of the times that Jake had reached out to Sam with just as much intensity and joy. 

Wyatt must have been on the same track, when he finally spoke, he said, "Encouraging their bond. Sometimes I wonder if we shouldn't have broken it, pulled them apart a bit, just for them to grow up as their own people, not as Sam and Jake."

"They are their own people. Really." Max insisted, "But I don't think..." What could they have done? What could they do now? Her son, her baby, looked so much healthier. He didn't look like he was lifeless, dying, anymore. He had someone to fight for, he had his family back. He always had. She was just broken that he had to go up against Wyatt.

"You're right. What could we have done, in all honesty? They..." He couldn't bear to finish the thought, state what was so clearly obvious.

"Yeah." Max looked to her tea, "They really do love each other. And what scares me is that it's not infatuation. It's not lust. I don't even think they see their genders, not really. They simply see each other as their partner." Max thought, though, that that was slowly changing. Sam was only getting older. Jake would mature, in that way, at some point, even as boys were behind girls in manny areas.

Max imagined that it would hit them both over the head. She hoped they wouldn't be too scared or dismayed to embrace the fact that love changed. "I've never done this, Wyatt. With all the others, not once."

"Done what?" Wyatt sounded perplexed.

"Not had to worry about my son and girls." She replied. "Never have I known that his love for someone else transcended hormones." She added silently, Never would I believe that his love for her would transcend his love for a man he had idolized, whom he'd thought had hung the very stars. Jake had learned a lot today, as had his mother, Max thought with a heavy heart.

Wyatt admitted, "You're scaring me, Max."

"Welcome to motherhood, Wyatt." Max smiled, "Lou and I talked about this all the time."

"And what did she say?" He seemed desperate to cling to some remnant of newness surrounding his wife, as though learning all the secrets she'd had would bring her back to him somehow.

Max grinned, thinking of the sunny young woman who danced around her kitchen. "She used to sing that song. You remember?  _Que Sara Sara_?"

"Whatever will be, will be." His eyes grew wistful.

Max shoved the heartache away and turned outward, her tone businesslike. "So our job is to figure out what to do for the next few weeks."

"Let the boy go." Wyatt capitulated from their earlier stance. He'd been so hardline, that Max almost blurted out, questioning his change of heart. Wyatt Forester was a good man. They'd all agreed that they'd talk until Jake agreed to stay up home, but now, Wyatt had been the one to back down, to change his mind, "I...I just might get my family back."

_That's when the flashback started to begin_

_They started slow_

_But they picked up fast_   
_So I got off my ass_   
_And I ran away to Californ-I-A_

_Oh My God_

_I should've never let you leave my side_

_Should've never left you alone_

_It probably seems like I'm never coming home_

_California,_ Never Shout Never

Sam should be able to sleep after a long day. Therapy had gone well, this morning. She'd started to feel like her limbs were connected to her body during the session. She was making progress. Everyone said so, but Sam didn't feel that way, at least not where it counted. She couldn't shift her weight well, yet, so she pushed the buttons to make the bed sit up and shoved a pillow under her side. It was a poor approximation of the support she needed, but she was loathe to wake up Sue. Only God in His infinite Wisdom knew how the woman kept from killing her from lack of sleep Sam had inflicted on her.

Finally, Sam made up her mind, decided upon something she'd been mulling over all day. The hospital bed sucked. She only kept it because everyone seemed to think she should. She sat up and got her bearings, moving to stand. That done, she walked towards the door, only to hear movement coming from the living room. She almost wrote it off as Cougar or Blaze being silly, but then, she thought, they weren't here. Sue didn't have any pets, unless you counted her collection of dust bunnies.

Well, robbers were a dime a dozen, so she crept along toward the noise as silently as her dragging gait would allow. She saw nothing, and turned back down the hallway, only to hear something in the kitchen. Her racing heart slowed. There was no robber, after Sue's random throw pillows.

Maybe Sue was getting a snack. She could always try to eat something. She moved toward the kitchen quickly only to bump into a solid mass of...Jake Ely. He was warm, and hers, and there. Sam pressed herself towards him, before pulling back enough to speak. 

"What are you doing here?" She whispered, trying not to wake Sue and to disguise the fact that her voice seemed to have failed her, when Jake's arms had steadied her, kept her from falling. Her insides were liquid, and her mind was putty. 

He was holding a hastily made sandwich, she saw, when he stepped back."Told you I'd come back." He took a big bite, teasing her. She could hear his teasing in his tone, see it in the lightness of his body language, "Were you waiting up for me?"

"No!" She spat, an uncontrolled blush rising in her face, neck, and ears. Heat flashed through her when she thought about how she had been wishing that he was there, with his arms around her, pressing her into the mattress. "I heard noise."

"Uh huh." He grinned, biting into the sandwich, making a show of the mustard he loved, "Coming to bed?"

She nodded, sticking to her earlier realization, wishing the blush hadn't intensified. "Yours though."

"Finally realize that bed sucks?" Jake asked, as he swallowed the last bite of the mammoth sandwich.

She bristled, "Didn't hear you complaining."

"I wasn't." He whispered, touching her arm, his thumb caressing the sensitive underside of her arm. She wished his touch didn't calm her, didn't feel so deplorably nice. The darn injury was making her all flighty, again. Oh, God, her knees started to wobble with that one touch. 

"Go brush your teeth." Sam ordered, if only to give herself some space to gain equilibrium. Why was he here? What did that note he'd left mean, then? What had happened up home? "I hate the smell of ham."

"Telling me what to do?" Jake stepped back in the darkness, and Sam felt the coolness that came with the loss of his touch again.

"Yes." She replied, tearing her eyes from his mustang gaze. Turning into the kitchen, she thought to grab some water. When the light from the fridge glared in the darkness, she saw six quarts of his mother's soup, a loaf of homemade bread, and half a dozen other things she'd canned herself on the table. It was evident that Max would have wanted to stay up home for the night.

Sam did the math. Jake had left before seven in the morning just to make it back by midnight. Sam was too happy, too selfish, to consider what that meant for Jake in the moment. Tomorrow was another day. They would talk tomorrow.

_I think I could need this in my life._

_I think I'm scared._ _I think too much._

_I know it's wrong, it's a problem._

_I think you're so mean._ _I think we should try..._

_I think I could need, this in my life._

_And I think I'm scared that I know too much._

_I can't relate and that's a problem._

_I think I'm scared._ _Do I talk too much?_

_I know it's wrong, it's a problem..._

_If You're Gone,_ Matchbox 20

 


	8. Still Standing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changes up ahead...

_I go about my business,_ _I'm doing fine._

_Besides, what would I say if I had you on the line?_

_Same old story, not much to say,_

_Hearts are broken every day._

_You Were Meant for Me_ , Jewel

The next morning dawned with an aching slowness, every facet of the dawn being drawn out like a bow, heavy and tight with an arrow poised, ready to fly. Sam watched from the chair as the sun peaked over the horizon, turning the sky from a inky black, to a blue black, to a violet, and finally to a blue that rivaled greeting cards.

She sat for hours in the gray chair that dominated the wall, thinking over all that Jake had told her, and had come to the conclusion that she needed to go home. Now. She needed to work this out with Dad. She knew Jake was angry at Dad, but Sam was more scared than angry. He seemed to have reasons, for this, for his strange behavior, reasons he was holding back from her. Everyone reacted differently to fear, and Sam couldn't understand his reaction.

Sam counted the minutes until she could call home, in time with Jake's even breaths, and talk to Gram. Sam had a horrible, sinking feeling that Gram was depressed. It had happened before, she knew, when Momma died, and when PopPop had died. It was just Gram's way, sometimes, to get blue, when others would become angry. She had given Sam her habit of withdrawing. Sam understood, then, better than anyone, she thought. Understanding where Gram was at mentally didn't make it easy to know that she was here, and Gram was there and there was nothing Sam could do to help.

"Sam?" Jake blurted. He looked around, panic clear on his face, as he took in the unfamiliar guest room.

Sam inhaled. "I'm here."

Jake visibly relaxed, and Sam didn't know what that meant. She refused to analyze it. She met his gaze, and something shifted. It took the air from her lungs. His gaze was expectant, and heady. Sam didn't know what to make of it. The house phone rang, and Jake picked it up, jolting after the second ring, fumbling with the phone in the cradle by the bed.

Sam ignored the chatter, staring out the window. Phone calls before nine in the morning were never good. What if something was wrong with Gram? With fear ripping her apart, Sam found the spot inside her head, the place no one could find her, where she was beyond it all, and let her consciousness fly.

"Sam?" A hand on her arm an indeterminable time. She jumped, and pressed her face into Jake's side. "Sorry, sorry..." He whispered, cradling her head, "Why'd you leave me?"

"I..." She inhaled. Mint and something indescribably comforting hit her nose. Sam resisted the urge to cling to him, to never let go, to wrap herself up in his warmth. Jake didn't pull away from her embrace, as she muttered fearfully, "Was that Gram?"

"No, Brat." Jake soothed, "The Agency. Regina's grandson is sick. She'll be a bit late."

The on call was Edye, and Sam refused to call, saying she'd rather have a PJ morning. Jake spoke, "You've got rehab, Sam." He was clearly frightened by her withdrawal from the world in the daylight hours.

It was a coping mechanism, he knew. He wasn't stupid. Jake knew that Sam was dealing with a heck of a lot more than she could or would verbalize. She was incredibly strong, but even the strongest of people needed their soft spots to fall. If she wanted to hide in a comer of her mind for a few hours a day, he'd gladly hold her until she felt better. Jake wanted to be Sam's soft place to fall.

It scared him, though, that it was coming to the fore over hypothetical worries in the daylight hours. Jake pressed Sam closer, wishing he could be in her mind, just to tell her, just so she would know, in her heart and her mind, that nothing, nothing in this world, was insurmountable, as long as they faced it together.

Sam's heart was lighter even as she felt foolish, now that she knew it hadn't been Gram, or more actually, someone with bad news about Gram. She was in a better mood after last night, when she'd been down about the challenges she'd faced yesterday, and processing what Jake had told her, whispered in the darkness, talking until they were hoarse and exhausted. Sam knew that her better mood wasn't saying much, given her introspection. Sam couldn't think about Dad now, couldn't find the words to make the call she'd planned on making.

Jake snorted a small laugh. "I'll take you."

"Fine, ruin my plans." She said, rising to go dress, missing his touch. Back in the room with the hospital bed, she tried to grab things she could put on easily. She settled, after a moment, on a tank top and zippered hoodie, with yoga pants. She glanced at the tag, hating the letter she saw. Sue had shopped for her a bit, but she wished she could wear her own clothes. Jeans and boots didn't fit in a rehab gym, though, and she didn't own much else.

Sam felt so different, as though she was no longer who she was because of what she wore. She felt like an impostor, a poseur. Sam Forester never wore bright pink and black lycra. Sam Forester liked flannel and waffle thermals and cotton in greens and dark blues. Sam looked at the hoodie, and threw it on the bed with some force, damning her impulses as she did it. She would shut up, suck it up, and wear the hoodie, even if it killed her.

Sue was like Gram. Gram thought talking could solve everything. Sue applied the same reasoning to shopping for clothes. Consequently, Sam had an entire wardrobe of clothing from obscenely ridiculous shops, in sizes she didn't even know existed. She missed being her own size. It was, for her, a comfortable size, even if she did have problem spots. Now, she was different and felt so odd in her body and her clothes. They were items she would have never selected.

Even the sports bras had lace trims. Getting the bright green garment on was an exercise in absurdity. She nearly fell off the bed putting on her underpants, and felt disgusting, worn out, and sweaty from simply getting dressed and she'd just showered yesterday evening. Jake hadn't been around, so she had lingered over a really hot shower, flooding the bathroom with steam and water. Sue had insisted on a girl's night, and they'd watched  _Pretty Woman_ until Sam's head throbbed angrily.

She wanted to crawl in bed and not come out as she nearly threw her sneaker at the wall, stopping just as she realized that she'd have to pick it up. Putting her head down like that made her feel like she was going to fall. Throwing things never really made her feel better, or not for long, anyway. Regina's absence, while unavoidable, drove home a point Sam couldn't bear.

She was an object in her own life, not the subject. She had no real control over where she went, how she got there, anything. Sam felt like running, running, running, when she realized that she was dependent on everyone she knew, just to live, and survive, somehow. She had known that, but it infuriated her that the things that had been background noise in life, getting ready and going places, had to become her focus or nothing would get done. It was fine, though, because only she knew that she'd gotten her arms stuck in a shirt made of a fabric that, weeks ago, she would have rejected for the fact that it would have clung to fat.

Sam needed help with her left sock, and tying her shoes. It was unavoidable as her fingers shook with fatigue, feeling like rubber as she tried to shove the bunny under the tree while not falling off the bed as she leaned over. She'd tried to apologize to Jake, but he wouldn't hear it, as his hands lingered over the task as though he didn't mind. Jake's hands lingered on her ankles, as though he couldn't get over how slim and boney they were. It was yet another feature about her that had changed. 

Nothing was right anymore, not really. She felt so hampered by everything that used to be so easy. Now, she had to think about the little things, like standing up and sitting down, and rolling over, and eating, and talking. These things had been background, weeks ago, and now they took up the whole of her concentration. She'd thought she was dealing, but it was really hard for her to admit that she was no longer autonomous. How could she be a strong, independent, person, without actually being independent and strong?

Sam was lost in her thoughts as they set off, as Sam hauled herself into the Scout with a huff, feeling the strain in her thighs and upper arms as she did so. She felt like she was falling, falling, falling, getting into the truck, but she ignored that part of her brain. It regularly lied. It was not to be trusted. She tried to smile, when she noted that Jake saw, too clearly, the emotions swirling on her face. "I need a mounting block..."

Jake simply placed his hand on her backside and gently boosted her into the Scout. Sam exhaled sharply, wanting more. His touch always lingered, even on impersonal spaces.

Jake went around to his side, and started his beloved truck, amazed at how busy San Francisco was at the early hour. These people never seemed to get anywhere they were going. It was always go, go, go, but there was never an ounce of staying. They dashed to the takeout place, to the corner grocery, to the park, but they never stayed anyplace. It boggled Jake's mind.

"Crazy, right?" Sam said, gesturing to one man, who was bustling down the street in a trench coat, balancing not one, but two cell phones, and a Starbucks carrier. The red light went on forever, and the man seemed lost in his own world, moving along in shoes that probably cost more than Sam's saddles. Her heart clenched, a black pall coming over her. She was more like the man on the street, now, than the girl she used to be. It was time to accept that.

"Probably on the phone managing people's lives." Jake said. "Or ordering more muffins."

"Look, look!" Sam cried, shifting in her seat, as the traffic began to move, "He's got a third cell phone." The man fished a third phone out of his breast pocket and was talking animatedly upon it, almost sloshing the coffee he was carrying. A $12 frappemochawhatever wasn't his concern as he moved along. 

"He's a spy, then." Jake said, as the man stuffed the  third phone back into his coat with a look of distaste.

"Come off it." Sam shook her head as they left the man behind, "He was a yuppie."

"With three cell phones?" Jake brow rose. Jake barely charged his phone. Having three was unfathomable. After all, who had that much to say? 

"Wife, Mistress, and Work." Sam said, counting them off on her fingers, he tone revealing what she thought about men with mistresses. It wasn't that the man had a lot to say, merely a lot to hide. 

Jake just looked at her, as he turned left.

"What?" Sam said, innocently. "Dallas always says..." Sam broke off sharply, "He always said that cities are dens of iniquity."

"He says that about every place that has a population density higher than seven." Jake returned.

"Doesn't mean he was wrong." Sam shot back. "And the dude's wife probably knows, and is going to take him to the cleaners. Maybe it was their lawyer calling, huh?"

"Hmm." Jake agreed, as they parked. Sam didn't know what would happen if they had to split up everything. Their lives, the things they loved, were so united and tied together in ways that really only made sense to them. Who would get the books, for example, and what about the tools they had once shared? Sam wasn't even going to think about the jar of change in the cabinet at River Bend, or the flip bank account? The money would be easy to divide, of course, but... 

The hospital was bustling when they went into the outpatient entrance. Sam insisted on pushing herself. Jake stepped back. He missed the ability to hold her hand. He'd never had the courage to do it before the accident, but sometimes, if Quinn had been needling him a bit, or if he felt particularly needy, he would walk close enough to her, so that when their limbs moved, his hand would occasionally brush against the back of hers.

It was harder than he realized, with the wheelchair, to stand close enough to her. He wasn't her helper, like so many people they saw probably assumed when they went on walks. He saw the glances. Jake never knew, before the accident, how much differently people moved based on relationships. He wanted people to know that they were...friends? Friends, right. He wanted people to know that they were friends, that he was with her, that she was with him, because because because...

"Jake?" Sam was looking up at him, an amused expression her face. "We're here."

He nodded, trying to play it cool. Then, he really looked around him. Jake was surprised to see the pediatric gym nearly deserted at the early hour. Sam noticed his expression as he sat down in a chair, "They group us by age. My appointments are usually this early."

"Oh, the mute speaks." A lightly accented voice said from a small ways away, near a mat table.

Jake tensed. Sam shook her head minutely. The tilt of her head told him this snippy girl was no threat. He relaxed. Sam understood his reply. There was nothing that needed to be said between them. 

"Shush, Matrona." Sam grinned, moving forward to smile at the girl. Sam really was glad to see her. She owed Matrona a lot, but the Russian girl upbraided her at the slightest expression of her thanks.

"How are you, Sam?" the girl asked, saying, "My new roommate sucks."

"Why?" Sam inquired, from her chair.

"Nevermind." Matrona waved it off, "Who's that?" She asked, gesturing to Jake, who sat in the waiting area on the side. Sam knew that Matrona had ages to go, yet, in her recovery, before she could be released, and Sam was glad to provide her with information. Each girl lived vicariously through the ones that had gotten out, proven to the ones who hadn't that it was possible.

On the ward floor, such girls were spoken of with uncaring bravado and scorn until the lights went out. After that, there were whispered conversations about what you'd do when you were released. Matrona wanted a tattoo. Sam had wanted to go home, to feel like herself again. There was nothing else she wanted, had dreamed of, not fancy parties, or dancing, or going for a run. Only now did she realize that her dream had been the wildest, the craziest and most far fetched of them all.

"My friend, Jake." Sam replied.

"Oh, your boyfriend." Matrona nodded, recalling all the phone calls and the insinuations that came with them. Matrona had, like many of the girls on the gender segregated hallway, had teased Sam about Jake. Sam was used to it. It's not like every person they knew hadn't thought that at one time or another. Matrona would see, soon, that Sam and Jake were simply friends. Sam wished, though, that there was something simple about their relationship. Their friendship was mixed up and crazy, but it worked for them, even if people could not see that friends was where it stopped.

"He's not..." Sam was cut off from her tirade by her former roommate.

"He's not my boyfriend, Matrona, I just love him to bits and want to have his babies." Matrona mocked, trying to adopt Sam's tone and accent.

"I never said that." Sam spat, blushing horribly. She wished Matrona would just shut up. Jake had a tracker's hearing. No doubt he could hear everything that was being said, no matter that Matrona wasn't being loud.

"No denial either." Matrona grinned, looking Jake over, "I wouldn't tell him no, either."  

Sam felt a moment of indignant rage so strong that she was surprised when her mouth fell open, but not one angry word fell out. Sam's line of vision fell on Jake, and there was a slight blush near his collar. Darn. Darn. Darn. He'd heard everything. If she lied and denied...Wait! She was lying or denying anything! There was nothing, nothing, nothing...

Sam was simply correcting her friend. She just didn't know how to do it. If Sam corrected Matrona too strongly, how would that look to Jake, or to Matrona? Sam glared, but let it go as their attention was pulled away. "Girls, let's get going." Kayla called, from a mat.

Matrona turned away, muttering, "No wonder you were in such a hurry to get home."

Sam blushed, kicking herself for her overreactive capillaries.

The session began, and Sam wished it was over three minutes after it started. This session was nothing like the one Jake had observed. Kyla was putting her through the paces, now, not making sure she wasn't dealing with effects from fluid in the lungs. The nebulizer took care of that, and now there was no excuse for not hitting the ground running. Whoever said physical therapy was easy, lied. Sam had thought, going in, that it would be easy, restful, soft. That was completely wrong. It felt like bootcamp, a bootcamp that played to her weaknesses, finding every soft spot, weak spot, or flaw.

She did the same things session after session, over and over, in a thousand new ways. It was all about correcting what she done wrong, only to do it right. Sam couldn't stop when she finally gotten it correct, though. Oh, no, she couldn't stop working on something until it was learned it so innately that she couldn't do it incorrectly, no matter how much pain she was in or stress you were under. Sam knew she could be dying, bleeding your guts out, and they would still say "Stand up. No, the angle is wrong. Get down. Again. Stand up correctly or not at all." And so Sam had spent her free time in the gym, practicing until she got it right, until no one, and nothing, could take away her ability to stand up away from her. She had earned it, sweat for it, bled for it, it was hers, and she would never lose it again.

_Cause sometimes you just feel tired, f_ _eel weak_

_And when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up._

_But you gotta search within you, you gotta find that inner strength_

_And just pull that shit out of you and get that motivation to not give up_

_And not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse._

_Till I Collapse_ , Eminem

Sam remembered her first real challenge here, the day everything hit the fan, and it got real. The first lesson they taught was how to get up when you fell. It was a lifeskill, they said, and one she had since mastered out of sheer will. It was poetic, Sam thought. She had hit rock bottom, she knew, and they were teaching her, literally, to claw her way out of a hell many people could not imagine.

Hell was not fire and brimstone, Sam had realized. Hell was was wanting a glass of water so badly, and not being able to get it for yourself because the world wasn't set up for people like you. Hell was knowing that the only way to get it was to leave every ounce of pride behind and ask Edye to get it for her and then being grateful if the water was warm.

You had to be able to stand, the therapist she'd forgotten told her. That day, a miserable Thursday, Sam didn't give a flying fadoodle if she could stand. She wanted to be able to sleep a night through without waking screaming for Jake, eat a meal, and feel sooner when her toes were cold. But no, they started her off on the one thing she couldn't do. Hadn't done. She hadn't been able to stand up, not when the accident happened, and she hadn't tried since, well, not in public, anyway.

First, the therapist had shown her how to get out of her wheelchair. She made it look so simple. The words echoed in Sam's brain as she did it. "Push up to stand." The woman demonstrated, showing her, as she directed, "Turn around to face the chair. Kick your feet back. Lower yourself down on your knees. If it hurts too much, kick your feet back farther so that you don't come down so straight on your knees. Lean a bit on the chair, but not too much, or that's cheating, dear."

Sam's own interpretation of the instructions took over. The whole thing made her feel fearful, and dizzy. She later learned that just when her arms felt like they're giving out, she'd feel the mat under her knees. Sam knew it felt like bricks. She'd laid her head down on the gel seat of the chair and shuddered, sucking in a lungful of rapidly depleting oxygen.

The therapist she'd been working with had said, "Good." like she was a jittery horse. Sam's stomach had clenched. Her head was spinning. Her blood was racing. The cavernous room felt too small, too empty. "Samantha, go on and pull one knee up. Plant your foot."

"I can't!" Sam said, knowing that this was why they'd used a bolster to stretch like that, half-kneeling, for days now. She was going to vomit. She wanted to die. She could not get up on her own. It hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Her body was weighing her down.

The therapist clucked, "Can't never did anything till he tried, honey." Still, the woman helped her to plant her left foot. "Good, feel that?"

All Sam could feel was the rush of panic that so often overtook her now. But she could not say that out loud. She would not. She would rather die than admit that she was a failure out loud, to some stanger. The woman gently prodded her with her voice, "Now push."

Sam tried putting her weight over that leg in order to push up and drag her other leg into a standing position enough to push the rest of the way up with the leg that she'd been pulling up. Sam thought she might have it until she landed hard, back on her knee, in a half kneel, a cry bitten off before she let it out. She did it again, and got not higher. Again. Her neck started to sweat. Again. Her arms began to wobble, feel numb. She tuned out the therapist. She wondered what would happen if she told the woman to shut up? Matrona had done it once, and gotten told.

Again. Up. And down. Up. Down. Again. There was no way she would figure this out. She was a loser. A freak. Useless. Dependent. Broken. Defective.

Sam's heart was breaking. It was in this moment that she realized that something was wrong. She was more than winded and her vision was blurry. Panic and bile rose inside of her. Her whole upper body was in agony, she could barely breathe. Sweat poured off of her, as her stomach rolled. She knew what the feelings inside of her meant. "I'm having...a heart attack."

"No, dear." The woman soothed, "You just rest on your knees, for a second."

Sam tried to breathe. She couldn't get air, and she started to shake. There was no air. "I can't...breathe." Sam cried, "I...I...I.."

Within a moment, she was sitting on the floor, against a bolster, the therapist actually having helped her to move. "Sam. Listen." Suddenly, the woman was all business as she stared her straight in the eyes, "You are going to be just fine. You are having a panic attack."

"No." Sam cried. "I..." Why couldn't this woman understand that something really bad was going to happen? That Sam was going to die, and she was sitting there, telling her to breathe? Sam felt like there was water in her chest, and she frantically started to grab at her shirt, desperate to do something, anything, to make this last moment easier. 

Sam didn't want to go, not today. It would be the answer to a prayer, but she didn't want to go like this. She knew that it was not her choice. The pain intensified, and Sam saw dark spots in front of her eyes as the room began to spin. 

"It's a panic attack." The woman soothed, taking her hands gently, "It'll pass. Breathe with me, okay?"

Sam wrenched her hands away with a sob. There wasn't enough air. Her hands were still numb. Something bad was going to happen. Something really, really, bad was going to happen, and she couldn't get up, couldn't get away. Sam wanted nothing more to run. She could not fight it off, either. She was...vulnerable, a sitting duck. She was unsafe. She made a strangled sound that should have been a word. It should have been a name. "Jak-" She sobbed harder. 

"No, this isn't a joke, honey." The woman said, "You'll be okay. Stay with me."

Sam shook her head frantically. That wasn't what she said, but she didn't know how to correct the woman. That wasn't what she needed. She didn't need to stay with this lady. This wasn't safe. It was so cold, in this gym. There was something terribly, terribly, wrong. Sam felt like screaming at the top of her lungs, screaming, screaming, screaming until she was hoarse, but as it was she couldn't get enough air to make it feel like she wasn't under water. She was under water. Sam at once felt weightless and as though she was filled with lead. "Ja..."

"That's right..." The woman soothed, "Just breathe."

She was going to die, here, in this gym, on this stupid mat. She was going to die, staring at some woman who made her feel even more unsafe. Her eyes were blue. Blue was the wrong color. Sam didn't know why, but she knew that her eyes were wrong. Sam slammed her eyes shut with a whimper. Just survive. Something bad is going to happen and crying about it isn't going to solve it. Survive. Survive. Survive.

"'ake..." Sam began, when she could get enough air again.

The woman, after a second, said, "You don't have to thank me, honey. I'm sorry. I know this is tough on you."

Sam frowned, when a cup of water was pressed into her sweaty grasp, the styrofoam itching her palm, as the water sloshed out of the cup, on to her lap.

The session had been finished, from that moment. The woman, Sam had forced herself to forget her face, forget her name, even in her memories, had sent her off to her room, shaking like a leaf.

Matrona had taken one look at her and said, "Did it feel like you were drowning or floating away?"

"Water." Sam said, hoarsely, as a bout of shivers overtook her, like the aftershocks of an earthquake. "And tremors."

"Just sleep." Matrona had said. "I'll cover for you with the girls."

"Thanks." Sam muttered, as Matrona went back to her iPod, the tinny sound making Sam's head throb. She could not even cry. Sam did not sleep. She was sticky with sweat and salt from tears she hadn't realized she'd cried in the gym. She stared at the wall and felt like a fool.

Later that day, the phycologist had stopped by, outside of group therapy, just to "have a chat." She had shown up rather interestingly, Sam realized now, just after she'd had a shower and they'd forced her to eat some soup.

Sam recalled her response, "I don't...have anything to s-say." Sam did not look at Ella. The tray over her bed was far more interesting. 

"Samantha, what happened today is very normal." Ella began, "You need to know that you're not alone." Sam never spoke much in group therapy. How Ella knew that she was alone was beyond her. She didn't feel alone. She was alone, and there was a difference. That Ella didn't see it was yet another reason she never opened her mouth. 

All of the others...Sam just knew they would never understand. Sam could not talk about the crushing pain that came with missing her father, her betrayer. She was weak for missing him, so it was just easier not to talk about it. All of the others talked about how they were inherently still who they were, that they were still enough. Sam knew better than to buy into such lies. She knew that she wasn't who she was, that she never would be who she was. She wasn't enough, not enough, anymore, to belong in the lives of those she had loved. After all, what was a cowgirl that wasn't a cowgirl anymore? 

Sam didn't have the words to talk about her family. She didn't want to, because her family was all about the horses and the cattle that united them. Sam swallowed, not allowing her thoughts to go down that line. She could not handle another night of suicidal thoughts. Stealing a syringe out of a med cart was... 

Sam looked out the window. "I lost my breath, is all."

"I'm going to leave this book here, for you, and we'll talk tomorrow." Ella placed a book on the table. Sam did not look it, nor was she grateful that Ella had placed it on the table Sam could reach by herself. In fact, that fact made her angrier than she could express. What was a book going to do? They had somehow gotten the idea that she liked to read. She did. Not that the letters on the page made much sense to her now. 

Jake read to her. He read to her when the letters jumbled, and when she needed to hear his voice, she heard stories of things that would never be, stories of hope and lightness. There were no stories about people like her. 

Sam blurted, "Tomorrow?" Group therapy was not tomorrow. She looked up then, meeting Ella's knowing eyes. 

"Fridays at three, Sam, for the next few weeks. Tuesdays, too." Ella said. "We'll talk. It'll help."

Sam ignored her as she walked away, and took so long to transfer into her chair that she was five minutes late to the appointment the next day. 

 Ella would have had to turn in her Ph.D, if she couldn't figure out that Sam had done it on purpose. 

_Oh, the lonely sound of my voice calling i_ _s driving me insane._

_And just like rain the tears keep falling,_

_Nobody answers when I call your name._

_When I Call Your Name_ , Vince Gill

"Ohh, Sam's in outer space again." Matrona said. When Sam came back to the present in the gym, Matrona ordered, "Throw the ball, yeah, so we can get out of here before you're too old to act on what you're thinking about!"

Sam scowled, "Anyone ever told you you're really bad, Matrona?" Sam palmed the ball, hating the sensory issues it called the fore. The texture of the ball, the rubbery squishy softness made her skin crawl, her palms itch. No matter how soft it was, she always slammed her eyes shut when it came sailing towards her, her brain convinced it was made of bricks and was going to smash her to bits. At least, Sam reasoned, she no longer automatically covered her head with her hands, and she could almost hide her flinches. 

"My mother. My father. My rabbi. Everyone." She was happy to throw the ball, "But it's so fun, Sam. What's life if you don't live?" They got back to work and Sam knew that therapy with Matrona wasn't much easier, although the girl made her laugh quite a bit.

The session was over and Sam felt panic as she looked at the clock. She was never late. Sam threw herself into her chair, barely allowing her feet to rest on the footplates before she was putting her hands on the rims, and booked it for the door. Matrona called, "Sure, you run off now! Where do you go all the time, anyway?"

Jake stood as she wheeled over to him, and they walked outside the ward. "Come with me." She began to push herself towards the elevator bank in the rehab tower. Sam stopped pushing a few feet before the elevator bay so she would roll to a stop.

"Don't you have OT?" He asked confusedly, following along like a puppy who had not yet come to terms with the length of his legs or the placement of his paws.

"Not for 65 minutes." She entered the elevator, narrowly missing getting stuck in the doorway. and pressed the 2R on the button list. Sam was counting every minute between the sessions, determined to be as precise as possible.

Sam felt a sense of ease that came with the knowing that she was finally, for once, in control of what would happen next. Regina, or worse yet, Edye, wasn't here to butt in, to take over. She felt freer than she had in weeks. She felt like they were them, again. 

She'd tried to ditch the nurses, once. Regina had played along, sitting right outside the door. Edye, though, had come along and complained the entire time about wasting time. Always, with them, she felt powerless and observed, watched and judged. That wasn't so with Jake, and she found his presence beside her empowering.

Jake rocked back on his boots in the elevator. They were alone in the car. "Where are we going?" He asked.

"Just watch. And if a nurse stops you..." she tilted her head to look up at him, "do not say you're with me."

"Huh?" He followed her out of the elevator, itching to push the wheelchair for her. "What?"

_Don't give up, y_ _ou've got a reason to live_

_Can't forget w_ _e only get what we give_

_Don't let go,_ _I feel the music in you_

_Fly high, wh_ _at's real can't die_

_We only get what we give_

_You're gonna get what you give_

_Just don't be afraid to live_

_You Get What You Give_ , The New Radicals

Jake watched as Sam propelled herself down the long hallway, nodding at a nurse or two, until she came to a sitting room, furnished like a retirement home. This space was completely different from the main area of the rehab. It felt differently, felt less stagnant, but more comfortable. The bulletin boards had different themes. This wing, he saw, hosted family dinners and bingo nights. Jake couldn't stop to read, though, because Sam was urging them both along. 

She moved through that room, towards the back, where there was a large, open area after a doorway. She kicked out her foot, forcing the door open, shoving a wheel in the doorway, before it could close on her. He stuck his arm out above her, and held the door from behind as she moved through it. It was, Jake realized, an art studio, or what could pass for one.

Sam spoke, as she they walked through the space, "Welcome to geriatric rehab, extended stay unit."

"Huh?" He asked, again. God, she was cryptic It made sense, though. The bingo nights, and the family dinners, and the furniture. This was almost like a home, a facility, for older people. Jake had never known an elderly person who lived in a home. Grandma Ely had died at home. So had PopPop. He barely remembered PopPop, but he remembered Grandma, but he remembered PopPop. Grace's husband had been given the best care in his end of life days, on his ranch, with the horses and the people he loved. It wasn't creepy to him, to live in a house where someone had died. 

He hadn't planned on dying in the house. He didn't want that energy in his family's spaces, the energy of a painful passing, and not one timed by the Universe. He felt badly for the old people here, to have to make a new home so late in life, no matter if they had chosen it. Dying alone, without his home around him, had scared the hell out of him. 

Sam pulled out a bench, trying to open a space on the end for her chair. He leaned down to lift the footplates for her, and gave her a hand as she stood and shifted over to the bench.

He marveled yet again at how many steps there was to the process of moving, how many smaller movements made up the larger ones, how much coordination and concentration she displayed, to make up for her current weakness. He had once thought that standing was one movement, but now he saw it for the complex movement that it was, the blend of isolation and combination of muscle movements and shifts that made up the simplest of actions. The PT could just kiss his ass. If Sam let him, he was going to help her.

She tried to stand, sitting forward on the bench. "I hate to ask..."

If she said that or I'm sorry, one more time, he was going to do something drastic. He didn't know what he would do, but do something he would. Jake saw her try to pull the bench forward, and slid it forward with the bump of his knee.

It was "I'm sorry..." this, and "I hate to ask, but..." that. She hardly spoke without saying thank you, like she didn't have the right to demand exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it. Whoever had put that thought into her head was on the top of Jake's list. It sounded like it wasn't even Sam saying these words, Sam, who demanded and asserted, who walked through life with a encompassing knowing. This uncertainty cut into his soul. 

She sat, and tensed, looking at the clock. "Go sit over there." Said his autocratic best friend, and gestured towards a large seat not far from the bench, next to a big window.

He paused, hoping he could have sat with her. "Go!"

Sam began to pull supplies from the drawers in the huge table, tossing watercolors and paper out along with paintbrushes. She leaned over the table, her loose whips of hair coming down to brush against her face. Jake watched as she tucked them back, pushing the neckline of her top back down over her chest unconsciously. A small scar that she normally hid was exposed as she moved. 

She did not pick up a brush for herself. Gripping the edge of the table, she moved to stand up. He saw her weight shift, her feet press into the floor, the way her spine moved and her hips tilted.

 Jake stood, simultaneously. "What do you need?" He asked.

"See the blue dishes?" Sam asked, sitting down again and letting go of the table as she did so, "And the green ones?" She gestured to small plastic dishes set in groups of two all around the table.

"Yeah?" He asked, understanding where she was going. Jake gathered up the bowls. They were heavy bits of plastic, rounded, with rolled edges to drag the brushes along, to wick away too much water. 

"I'm sorry to ask, but can you fill them?" She asked, gaze in her lap.

"Sam." Jake spoke through his teeth. "I can't deal with the 'sorries' every five damn seconds."

"I am sorry." She shot back, as he placed the bowls in the sink and rotated to face her.

Jake met her snapping, sullen gaze. "Sam." There was such pain in her eyes. And yet, it did nothing to dampen the fire inside of her, fire that he had always enthralled him. It was the power inside of her come to the fore, the light and the strength that kept their work going, when cases with horses got tough, when he wanted to light the flip houses on fire. It was this mulish, determined, fuck you, look on her face that kept him going. 

"Why don't you want to hear the truth?" Sam bit out, "Would you rather I lied to you?"

"I would rather..." He began, "I would rather...I..." He shrugged, filling the bowls. His mind was screaming. I'd rather, he thought, you would not need this, that this never happened. I want you to need me, to want me, not to feel as though you're some kind of burden. I want you to feel as though you have a right to be the person you are.

"Me too." She said, understanding that they both wished this hadn't happened, "I'll try. I promise." He didn't want this. He didn't want her to feel like she was enough. There was nothing she needed to do for him. 

He needed to correct her, and did so as soon as the water was off, "You don't have to be sorry, Sam, for asking for things that are your right. You don't have to be sorry for making your needs known. You aren't..." He looked at her, heavily, and the fire was gone. She looked so vulnerable. "You aren't the things that you're telling yourself you are."

"Jake." Sam said, almost reproachfully. He sat down next to her bowls squarely back in place, back to the table. The seam of her hoodie brushed his arm, the unzipped zipper folded backwards. 

"I know there's all kinds of garbage, all kinds of things you're dealing with Sam, but do not let them change you." Jake whispered, meeting her green eyes, "That's the promise I want from you."

"I can't give you that, Jake." She said, "They already have."

"They've changed me, too." Jake whispered, catching her hand, feeling some brush burn on the palms of her hand. She hadn't said a word about it. He swore he'd treat it later, even if she shut him out after. Her pulse was comforting. Jake breathed, leaning over to meet her swaying body halfway. He didn't want her to tip over, and he wanted to hold her, too. 

"I'm so..." She broke off, with the look that he knew came over his face. "I'll try, okay?" Sam sat up more fully, and broke the touch between them. 

"Okay." He stood, again, and began to place the other art supplies at the various spaces.

"And Jake?" Sam said, with a smile, though her tone was deadly serious, "Don't ever tell me what I can and can't say again."

"I'm sorry." He grinned.

"You should be." She said, autocratically, her grin matching his own.

Jake sat, and watched, as he was lost in watching her move the art supplies, in seeing her be her, even though she wasn't actually drawing or painting. He found joy in seeing Sam in this setting because he saw a vibrant woman and knew that she was wholly her. She would be okay. Sam was most fully herself when she gave herself over to whim of her artist muse, open and free, making his heart swell, and his soul soar.

He missed, therefore, lost as he was in her presence, the slow arrival of several elderly people. There were six or seven, as well as several nurses, all told.

Sam finished moving things around, and looked up at one man, who'd come close to her, sitting catty-corner to Sam. "Hello, Mr. Hershburger." Sam said, fingers above the paper as though she wished to caress it. Jake wished that she would, just so he could see the myriad of expressions that crossed her face when she drew something. He wanted to see her be herself, with the ink stains on her hands, that revealed the shades of her soul's expression. 

"Hello, dear." He smiled, as he took up a brush, "Are you going to marry me today?"

"I'm only here to direct art lessons for you." Sam smiled, "My Dad wouldn't much like me marrying, much less a charmer like you." The older man's pants were plaid, and were pulled up so as to be high waters. His socks were a vibrant purple. 

"My Grandson Joey is single. We've got to secure you a gentleman caller." He looked to her, continuing softly. "So much like my Franny. Too nice to be single, like you are."

Jake wrestled with the urge to stand. He fought hard with a part of himself that demanded he make his presence known, that he make his presence understood, even though he knew he didn't understand why that was. At home, they didn't deal with this shit. Jake shifted uncomfortably.

Sam's eyes flicked over in his direction. Jake glared. No matter what she said with the tilt of her head, there was nothing funny about this.

Sam's tongue tapped the inside of her mouth as her lips twisted, almost unseen. So what if it was complete 180 from the assumptions people made at home?

He raised an eyebrow. _So what?_

She shook her head in reply.  _Nothing. Nothing._

Jake let the conversation between them drop. 

"Joseph! Let the child teach us." A woman planted herself next to him with a plop, wobbly as she was. "I want to draw. "

Sam nodded, and added, "I rather thought you could paint, today, Ma'am."

Jake watched as the old people filled in seats and began to play with the supplies, one calling out, "I like this girl. So much better than the other entertainment they hire."

"Paul!" The same lady interrupted, smearing black paint on her papery arm as she gestured, "She is a patient. Not hired, as I have told you a thousand and one times. Now cease in your caterwauling, I'm trying to paint my cat."

"Your cat has been dead for 50 years!" Paul shot back, "What does it matter if it's not perfect? You can't even remember what you ate for lunch, Linda!"

"Well, I like that!" The woman huffed, looking around the table to find support and commiseration, "60 years of marriage, only to be talked to like that."

Jake grinned. He really did like old people. Sam blinked at him as she passed someone else more paper, finding a part of themselves in the easy banter _. Youandme. Us._

He wondered what he'd be like, as an old man. Would he still enjoy running around after Sam, trying to keep her from getting into trouble? What would they do for fun? Would they still enjoy car rides, when he couldn't see to keep them in the lane? Would they still have cattle, or would they keep horses and sheep? Would he have been forced to cut his hair? 

He thought briefly about home, the ranch, their work. Would they still be training horses, or would they have long ago passed that on to someone else, someone they'd trained, raised, made together...

Jake could not believe this was happening now as she was trying to redirect his thoughts. They wouldn't move past a solid vision of things he had only allowed himself to think about in passing, or when he was vulnerable to his own emotions, caught unawares by a vision that he couldn't chase away. He had dreamed this, only to wake up screaming her name, blood filling dreams where pleasure had once been. 

He forcefully put a stop to his thoughts, knowing he had Matrona to blame. Punnett squares about Sam's ears were a little much, even for him. She wasn't a pea plant, after all, and human genetics were much more complex. But at least the Punnett square was far more clinical than thinking about the gentle slope of her hips, the way they... 

He cleared his throat, and wished that Punnett squares hadn't made him think about vasoconstriction, which made him think about blood, which made the whole thing come full circle, and turned the pleasure that was barely there into pain. 

Jake was slowly starting to see that so much of what he did, what he prided himself on, was based on abilities and skill-sets he wouldn't always have. This injury had taught him so much about physical wholeness, soundness, and he felt a pang of understanding for Sam. She felt like she had lost everything that made her, her. He only wished he could show her, prove to her that she had not. She was still her. How she could need any more proof was beyond him. She was sitting in a room full of old people, and having fun. If that wasn't proof enough, he didn't know what would be.

As Sam directed and encouraged the art lesson, a lady sat down next to him on the chair that was actually a loveseat. "So nice to see Sam looking better. She was right depressed when she started sneaking in here. She'd never touch the supplies, just sit, staring at blank canvases. She'd bolt like a funny rabbit if we came in, but eventually, why, she came to know us, and we her." She looked at him archly, "I assume the nurses in the upstairs ward have discovered our interloper?"

"No, Ma'am." He paused, even as he was unable to stop himself from talking to the kindly lady, who reminded him quite a bit of Grandma Ely, before she died. "I'm actually her friend from home."

"Oh?" The woman spoke, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

Sam began to help lady he learned was named Linda with her cat. The woman spoke after a few bars of silence between them, "She's a good girl, you hear? Comes in here three, four times a week, just to help and talk to the old fogies. Most people forget we're here, you know."

"Ma'am." He didn't know what to say. Sam looked up when the woman sat down, and he saw the truth in the flutter of her eyelashes, in the way she looked away. Sam felt...forgotten. She couldn't possibly be worried that this life here, this day in, day out, would be her fate.

Why else was she so in tune to people here? Jake's stomach knotted when he realized that she felt a sense of kinship with them. He felt raw and bleeding inside, that she could be in so much pain, so much that even strangers saw it, and still try to take care of these old people, to give them joy in art when she herself couldn't find any.

"We're old, not stupid." The woman said archly. She paused to listen to the cacophony of students, which masked their conversation, "We know she's right ill. But we also know that she's a nice girl. Life's been tough on us all, but it shouldn't be harder than it has to, for anybody."

Jake noticed that Sam's left hand trembled as she helped another lady, but it was a wonderful drawing from what he could see. Jake knew that unless someone happened to be staring at Sam, you couldn't tell that the teacher had nearly refused to touch the eraser, or that her hands shook when she did. Sam glanced over at him, a small, hesitant smile on her face.

Jake was spun back to his Grandfather's living room, listening to her fiddle with his record player while drawing something. She'd looked up at him, then, and smiled, brightly. How was he to know that a week later, a mere seven days, his entire world would be ripped apart and he'd spend nights wondering if she'd ever draw again? Unbidden, his eyes clouded over. God, she was still her. Thank God. She was still her. Being such a brat, forcing him to face his emotions in the room full old people. Sam looked up then, and really did smile brightly. It was a smile just for him.

_'Cause when push comes to shove y_ _ou taste what you're made of_

_You might bend til you break '_ _cause it's all you can take_

_On your knees, you look up, d_ _ecide you've had enough_

_You get mad, you get strong,_ _wipe your hands, shake it off_

_Then you stand, yeah, then you stand_

_Stand,_  Rascal Flatts

"Sam?" Jake asked, before they reached Regina in the waiting area, after OT. "Why was the therapist so ticked with you?" He recalled that the brunette woman had seemed resigned over something and that Sam couldn't get out of tiny entry to a still smaller room fast enough.

Sam rolled her eyes, but even she couldn't hide the truth from him, "I won't draw for her. She wants it to be a tool for recovery." She started walking down the hall, the chair rolling easily on tile.

"Oh?" Jake asked, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder. She stopped rolling, staring out the window the lined the modernist hallway. He hated that they had to steal moments of privacy, moments that used to be so easy to find, were now rarer than Dallas' steaks.

"I won't..." She continued, with conviction, "I won't let them take art from me, too. They've got everything else under a microscope, I won't let them have my soul, too." Sam finished.

"You'll paint again, Sam, when you're ready." Jake swore, thinking over a conversation they'd had last night, he knees pressed into his as she'd confessed her fear of drawing anything and the anger she felt about it.

"Don't be sure." She muttered.

But Jake was sure. He was certain. There was too much light inside of Sam for it to be bottled up forever. Sam was like the aurora borealis. Her inner light, much like her art, wasn't visible to the world all the time, but when the colors exploded forth, they expressed some part of the human experience that was completely and totally once in a lifetime in its beauty. Such truth and honest expression couldn't be locked away forever.

Sam would paint again. Sam was strong, holding her own independence against a world that wanted her to die to her self expression, her privacy, and he marveled at her ability to stand alone for what she cherished. He knew it would be easy to give up, and give in, but she was too strong and independent, too solid in her convictions, for that even to cross her mind.

Regina cut him off before he could reply, "Hey, y'all! Let's get going, shall we?"

Sam nodded, and Jake's hand dropped off her shoulder as she moved away. He would have held on, if he'd known what their return to Sue's would bring.

Back at Sue's, a message on the machine announced its presence via a little red button and a beep in the dial tone. Sam pressed play with some trepidation as Regina made her way into the kitchen. Jake followed, as the message machine ran through a few other calls. When he returned, they only waited 30 seconds, and then, her father's number was read out by the robotic voice.

Her father's voice filled the living room, "Hey, Sammy..." Wyatt paused, "I know Jake is right there, so I just want to tell you both...You were right, Jake. I've talked to Sue just now, and I'm planning on driving out tomorrow. I'll see you by midmorning. It'll be nice..." He cleared his throat, "real nice...just to see you." The beep resonated, signaling the end of the call.

"Woah." Sam said. "What did you say to him?" She looked at her hands, at the brushburn from the left wheel that had imprinted on her hand.

"Nothing," Jake began, "That he didn't need to hear..." He pressed an Ensure into her hands.

"I hate this." She said, lifting the can in a mock salute, as he sat down next to her.

"I know." Jake breathed. He hated it, too, that she was knocking back vanilla shakes, just to keep going. Sam was so strong. He couldn't do. When Mom had tried to make him drink one, he'd dumped it down the sink after three sips, and then threw up. She hadn't pushed the issue again.

"I don't mean just this swill." Sam said, pressing herself into his side, her warmth filling his soul.

Jake took initiative, and scooted her to her left, cuddling her close, because he needed to do it. He rested his head against her body, and realized that she was holding him, even as she was practically in his lap. He felt so much confusion. He wasn't strong and independent like Sam was. He needed her. He needed her, because he only ever felt safe in her arms.

Wyatt confused him. It was hard for him to admit that a man he'd revered so much growing up could be wrong, even though he knew that Wyatt had been telling him that he was right. There was no joy in his victory. He was angry, angry because it was hollow, and he still felt like he had lost. It tasted like ashes, because Wyatt's admission threw their plans into a tailspin.

Wyatt's admission had shown him, though, that things had come so far. And yet, Jake felt as though they were wandering in the desert, heading for a place he knew existed but could no longer see. Jake was, he realized, walking by faith. He knew that his upmost faith would always be in the things he could sense, no matter that he was deeply religious. Right now, all he could sense was the completeness that only came from being around Sam. Her hand found its way to his chest, to his heart. They were in this together. They just needed to keep going, keep moving forward, even if their final destination was beyond their comprehension.

_I'd sure hate to break down here_

_Nothing up ahead or in the rear-view mirror_

_Out in the middle of nowhere, knowing_

_I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rolling_

_God help me keep me moving somehow_

_Don't let me start wishing I was with him now_

_I've made it this far without crying a single tear_

_I'd sure hate to break down here_

_Break Down Here,_ Julie Roberts

 


	9. They Call the Wind Mariah

_Spent sometime in San Francisco_

_I spent a night there in the can_

_They threw this drunk man in my jail cell_

_I took fifteen dollars from that man_

_Left him my watch and my old house key_

_Don't want folks thinkin' that I'd steal_

_Streets of Bakersfield,_ Dwight Yoakam & Buck Owens

Jake frowned, as he yawned. His face contorted as he spoke. "He won't care if the dishes are done, Sam."

"Have you met my father?' Sam said, as she lifted the drainboard to drain the dishes more quickly. Her hand wobbled, and Jake steadied her from behind. His body supported hers, while his hand took up most of the weight of the dishboard.

Sam's mind relaxed, when Jake gently bracketed her body and took up some of her weight. She leaned against him, doing her level best to keep control of her pulse as his words tickled her hair, as the vibrations of his chest as he spoke comforted her. When he said her name, something sparking that his touch always left on her skin bloomed in her mind. His touch on her arms, on her back, pressing into her made her feel boneless. She felt her proprioceptive and vestibular senses calm, as her tactile issues calmed, simply because she finally knew with certainty where she was, who was touching her. Being held like this, being held so tightly, was comforting. 

"Sam, the only thing he cares about is seeing you." Jake replied, even as she turned on the hot water to wash away the grime from what could be kindly called Sue's attempt at cooking dinner. Her aunt had been flattered that they'd volunteered to clean up her mess, and had wandered off to watch her soap opera. Sam had ignored the dishes until last, having tided everything she could get her hands on since they heard Wyatt's voice on the machine hours before. Jake ignored the smell of overcooked kale as he added, "He knows that this isn't home."

"You know that there are standards he has, Jake. You know that..." Sam broke off, quickly, with an indrawn breath. She pushed up, stretching, to remove some of the tension from her back, leaning forward towards the sink. Her shirt, damp with water and cleaning products, rode up on her back. Not touching the soft planes of her lower back was impossible. 

Jake's fingers felt the knotted muscles in the small of her back, and Sam made an inarticulate sound of pleasure.

Jake felt a surge of something he could not name racing in his blood. It felt metallic, and harsh, possessive. Her arms went down to brace the counter, and the tense muscles in her back twitched under his touch. The fact that he was giving her this pleasure paled in comparison to the fact that she was in pain. His emotions turned almost feral, the pride in her strength becoming tinged as he felt her knees start to shake. 

 Jake wished with all his might that Wyatt would have just shown up, unannounced. "What I know, Sam, is that you're shaking. You're tired. Tired people sleep." He reached around her and shut off the water. The shift pulled her closer. 

"I'll sit for awhile." Sam agreed, baldly. "I...can't feel anything much below my knees."

It was anger, he realized, that he felt, anger underneath the things he always felt near Sam. Anger at Wyatt. Anger at the fact that Sam was such a decent human being, who wanted so much to please and honor a father that had not sought to honor her in return.

With that, Jake scooped her up, and left the kitchen.

"Jake!" Sam cried, tensing, "Sue is watching her soap."

He ignored her scolding, and replied nonverbally, raising an eyebrow as they entered the bathroom. Jake was glad to find the bathroom tidy, from where Sam had done a million little things. It bore the handprint of her labors. It felt, in the places that she had tidied, a little like River Bend. The whole apartment smelled like lemons, and he'd spent the evening following her around, trying to help, only to be told he didn't clean correctly.

The shower chair was in the middle of the tub, and with a silent plea for permission, Jake set Sam down upon it, sideways, facing outwardly. "What are we doing in here?" Sam said.

"Where are the bath salts?" Jake asked. He glanced at the gleaming counter. They'd been lying out, underneath the can of aloe Sam rubbed into the brush-burn from her wheelchair. After her efforts, the bathroom was tidy, if not as clean and organized as she would have liked.

Sam replied, catching on to what he was about, "In the cupboard where they belong." Sam pulled her left leg, and dropped it into the tub with a heavy, waterless, thunk. 

"Hm." Jake replied, locating the bath salts with ease. Jake heard her exhale as she grabbed onto the handle built into the side of the chair, cut into the plastic. "You okay?" He moved towards her as she shifted around.

She rolled her eyes, as she hooked a foot over the tub and turned. "If I wasn't..." she continued pivoting, moving her left leg up and over the edge, "you'd know."

Jake took her meaning, and switched on the faucet, letting warm water flood the basin of the tub. "Too warm?" He asked, feeling the heat rise from the gathering water.

Sam was pulling up her yoga pants legs, bunching them up at the knee. Leaning forward, Sam grabbed the dial, "Too cold."

Jake backed away, and handed her the bag of bath salts. "She uses the girly ones." Sam said, wrinkling her nose at the smell that wafted up from the bag. Roses weren't his thing, either. They kind of reminded him of Grace's perfume.

"What are you, four?" Jake chided, amused by her expression. It was good, he knew, to see Sam care about the little things, to see her fully present in the moment. Her smile grew from the teasing.

"I probably would love these if I were." Sam replied, tossing a heavily scented handful into the water. Jake added some epsom salt as she asked, "Well?"

"Well, what, Brat?" Jake asked, putting away the bags.

"I'm not putting on a show, here." Sam said, "You have to do it, too."

"What?" Jake said, looking at her warily. The water was churning in the tub, and the steam was filling the room. He had to do what, exactly? There was nothing left to clean. She'd done it all, and he had tried to help, and Sam had just blustered at him and...

Sam's voice called to him, "Take off your shoes."

"What are you going to do?" Jake asked, not liking her tone one bit. Sam shut off the water, having let it fill to the tops of her ankles.

"Ask you, very nicely, to share my water..." She continued, flicking some scented water towards him.

Jake saw through her expression easily. Sam wasn't asking. She wasn't even telling. She was demanding his compliance. "Strong arm me, you mean."

"Maybe." Sam replied, sighing as she wiggled her toes. "Come on, sit on the edge."

"Sam, you're crazy." Jake scoffed, even as his sneakers hit the fluffy pink carpet. The fabric of the shag rug felt like strange under his toes, once his socks were gone. Even stranger was the heat of the water, swirling over his toes, so unlike the washing they got in the shower.

"I'm brain damaged. Be nice." Sam scolded him as his toes settled beneath the water. To make the small space work, the front of his knee bumped into the side of hers, and Sam leaned slightly to her left. He bore her slight weight on his side, angled as he was, easily.

The magnitude of her words hit him like a 2x4, and Jake inhaled quickly. "I didn't mean..."

"Can't we talk about it?" Her words were soft, haunted. The steam from the water rose to sit heavily between them, and her chest rose and fell in the silence that beat between them as he struggled to reply.

"You want to?" Jake ventured, wondering how days and weeks of torture and silence had culminated in this moment. She smelled of bleach and roses, and the pain in her face was palpable. He couldn't tell, for once, how much of it was mental and how much of it was physical. He wished that he could take away the anguish he heard in her voice as easily as he could help her to remedy sore and swollen feet.

The water lapped between them. Sam started to speak, closed her mouth, and forced out. "No, but I don't want to not to." There was a note of seriousness there that belayed her former good humor.

"I just..." He understood, breathing in steam that made her hair frizz. She wanted to know that she could say anything, feel anything, and know that she had a sounding board in him. She did. Even if she said, "I blame you, Jake." or "I hate you." or worst of all, "Go away." he would listen. He would do what she asked, even as he knew that he did not have the fortitude to leave her.

Walking away again would kill him. He couldn't do it, and he prayed she never asked it of him. He wanted to stay with her always, know her when she grew old, so that he could look at her and say, "D'you remember, Brat, that night seventy years ago, when you smelled like kale and roses?"

"I know..." Sam seemed to catch something her couldn't hide from his face, as she'd accompanied her whisper with the briefest of a hugs. In that moment, the smell of bleach and burned, stuck-on kale wasn't so gross. Jake leaned in, because underneath it all, he could smell mint. Mint, to him, meant peace. Peace and...

Sam's eyes glittered, and widened as she ran her tongue over her chapped lips. Unconsciously, Jake mirrored the tilt to he saw her make with his own head.

Jake jumped a foot, splashing water, when Sue spoke, "Who's throwing a pool party without me?" Sue stood watching them from the door, wearing a silk kimono style robe over her pajamas. "Sammy, you should invite the entire class if you're going to be having this much fun."

"How was your soap?" Sam asked, as she pulled away from him with an indrawn breath. Jake was glad she'd looked away. His hands were shaking.

Jake made move to get out of the room, "No, stay, Jacob, don't be silly." It felt silly, though. It felt wrong, and invasive to be in this room with Sue. She was doing intensely private things, and she seemed not to care that she had an audience.

He was used to sharing a bathroom, used to fighting over water, and time, and yelling if his toothbrush was touched. He was used to sharing spaces. But this, this was odd as hell. Sue just...she was a nice lady, but she was odd. She was...odd, no matter how much she meant well. They were in a stranger's home, sitting with their feet in the tub. It hurt, because when they were alone, Jake felt almost at home here. 

"Oh, you know." Sue said, rummaging through the tidied bathroom, "Christophe left Yael because she's carrying the DiFranko heir. He doesn't remember, but really, the baby is his because when he got amnesia she posed as his maid to help him get his memory back." She began to wash her face, speaking with rounded words, "And well, while that didn't prove fruitful, her extra-circulars certainly did."

"Sue!" Sam burbled, as her aunt scrubbed at her face. Jake knew that he was blushing, too.

"Oh, hush." Sue scoffed, wiping off the wash quickly, with a towel Sam had folded with precision. Jake wondered why she'd had to go for the nice one that was clearly laid out for show, and saw a crestfallen look cross Sam's face.

Sam saw him look, and communicated their prior agreement that those shows were little more than trash, or useless time burners at best. He nodded, and she bit her lip. Obviously, Sue's behavior was distressing to her. He flicked a glance at Sue, and Sam's eyes clearly said, "Watch."

The wash was quickly replaced by something else one her skin. It was clear, and came out of a bottle. He looked at Sam, who rolled her eyes. Did all women put all this stuff all over their faces? "You've bred your animals, Sammy, surely."

"Not the same thing at all, Sue!" Sam corrected. Jake agreed with her, privately, but he was too embarrassed by the situation Sue had found them in and too confused by Sue's nonchalant behavior after all of Sam's work, to speak.

Sue laughed, and shot Sam a knowing look he couldn't read through the mirror, pulling a jar out from the neat row Sam had placed them in. He watched in horror as Sue put little dots of a white cream all over her freckles. He hoped that Sam didn't use that. If he found that she did, her bottle would quickly find its way to the trash. Why would anyone want to get rid of their freckles? Surely it wasn't safe, to try, anyway. He wondered why on earth so many people hated their bodies, to the point that they tried to change them, and then put them all out there, in the same breath.

"I'm not a prude!" Sam smiled, even though Jake knew she was really looking at the fact that her aunt had not put the vials of cosmetic stuff back in the row Sam had placed them in hours ago, "You can see my ankles!" Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"And lovely ankles they are, Sammy." Sue turned around, slapping at her cheeks, leaving her face red. Droplets of water went all over the counter. "Get to bed folks, Wyatt says he'll be in at lunchtime. We all know that means sunup. Forester time is so early. Don't worry about those dishes. They're fine."

"We have our own time?" Sam asked. Jake wished she'd smile for real. She looked like a kicked puppy.

"It was not a compliment, love." With that, Sue swept out of the room, leaving the counter looking as though a hurricane had hit it. At least the towel had made its way into the hamper, he thought.

Sam sighed, and said, "We'd better go."

"I'm not sure Sue appreciates..." Jake began, looking around the bathroom. Her aunt wasn't dirty, just careless in a way that Grace Forester would never have tolerated, not even for one second. Sam had grown up being taught that a clean house was a happy, functional house, and it seemed she'd learned Grace's lessons well. No doubt she wanted to pay Sue back, somehow, even though her aunt hadn't asked for compensation. Sam took pride in homemaking efforts, mostly, she said, because they were hard work. 

"Blame Gram." Sam said, "I couldn't let..." She looked around the formerly pristine bathroom, and sighed. Embedded lessons died hard. Jake still used one cup all day if he could, so that there were fewer dishes, and he still ate took quickly, like he had to gobble things to have seconds. 

"Your feet feel better?" Jake asked, pulling the plug in the bottom of the tub. The rubber stopper floated to the surface as the water drained away. Jake removed his own feet from the water, and used a towel from the rack to dry them. He noted that Sam's feet didn't look as swollen as they had. He hoped most of the redness was from the heat of the water.

Sam took the towel, and leaned down to dry her own feet, once the water was gone. Jake's hand on her left elbow allowed her to maintain a sense of balance, and she dried her feet quickly, feeling for the first time as though she was secure, and wouldn't fall.

Sam stepped out on to the rug, allowing Jake to easily pull her up from the chair, once her feet were out in front of her as she sat sideways. Her heart thundered, when his touch exploded on her skin, feeling like the very best of sensations. She pulled away, because her injured mind was driving her insane.

All the while her feet had been soaking, she'd felt like something was going to happen, something wild, and right, and perfect. All evening they'd worked together, and it had been so easy to pretend, in her own mind, that they were home, and that things were okay, but as soon as whatever it was had felt palpable, Sue had arrived. Sam was equally downtrodden about it, and glad that she'd had a moment to pull herself together, so Jake couldn't guess as to her thoughts. She frowned at the dirty towel, and the ring the bath salts had left in the tub. A clean house had been nice while it lasted.

Later, after the apartment was quiet, Sam's mind began to spin, as it often did, before she could push the thoughts away. She knew Jake was confused, concerned, about her insistence that she clean up. The truth was too hard to put into words, because it made no sense.

Sam wanted to come home.

If she could prove to Dad that she was normal, maybe her father would relent and allow her to come home.

Sue hadn't been happy with her trying to clean up. She had offered to help Sam clean up, but Sam passed it off as wanting to help with the dinner dishes. How Sue could not cook was a mystery to her. It wasn't hard, but Sam couldn't help with that, because she couldn't get near enough to the stove while sitting, and she knew she'd burn herself if she tried to cook on Sue's range while standing. It wasn't her place to shout out directions when she wasn't doing the work. After all, Dad always said that if you didn't do the work, you didn't get to help in making the decisions. After dinner, she was so tired of feeling so powerless, that she'd had to contribute somehow, so that she would earn the right to participate.

She had worked so slowly, felt so inept and slovenly. Chores that should have taken all of five minutes had taken far longer, and she had lost her energy far sooner than she ever had before. The quality of her chores, she knew, had been nothing like Gram would have held up as acceptable, though she knew this wasn't her house. This wasn't her home. There was only so much she could do, before it became rude and impossible to do any more.

Even after all that work, Sue hadn't seen her contribution for what it was. She'd tried to pay her aunt back. She tried to say thanks, but she didn't have the words. Sam felt a bit brushed aside, and knew that more anything, she was tired of feeling like a guest, tired of feeling like a barnacle, tired of being in a place where people didn't even speak the same metaphorical language. To her, a hard day's work was an expression of love for others, an expression of personhood and self-worth. How did Sue not get that?

_So take a good look at my face_

_You'll see my smile looks out of place_

_If you look closer, it's easy to trace_

_The tracks of my tears..._

_The Tracks of My Tears_ , Smokey Robinson and the Miracles

Despite the fact that they fell asleep late at night, Jake woke with a startled noise, a scream he just barely was able to swallow dying on his lips. He'd had that dream again, that dream that started out as a fantasy, only to end up tormenting him. He breathed raggedly, not even the pressure his bladder was putting on his prostate was allowing him to achieve any level of arousal after the ending of that dream. 

Well, one thing was for certain. He'd never be a sadist, and he'd never get off on bloodplay. Jake wondered if he had a problem. He could not get aroused, and when he did, he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. He had bigger problems, though, bigger concerns. It wasn't like he had a ton of time or energy to think about masturbation. He didn't even care anymore. Not caring about sex wasn't a problem. Many people went through life without a single lustful thought. Jake ignored the back of his mind that whispered that he'd been turned on at art class. 

The sun was barely up, and he thought for a second about rolling over, and going back to sleep, when he realized, quickly, that he was completely alone. He sat, hurriedly, and looked to the chair. Jake knew Sam had been in pain last night, waking up often to find some semblance of rest.

She'd done too much work last night, took too much on at once, all for Wyatt. His heart was racing. Jake realized blearily that Sam wasn't there, and her water bottle was gone. In the next second, he bolted up, grabbed the doorknob and moved into the living room. What if she'd fallen, getting more water?

"Sam?" He called, skidding to a stop in the kitchen. Sam was sitting at the table, half ready for the day. "Why are you up so early?"

"Dad's coming, Jake." She said, looking up from what he knew was her Bible, "I've got to be ready."

"Ready?" He repeated, sitting down next to her. "What do you mean?" They'd gotten most things together last night before heading to bed.

"He can't know, Jake." She said, "He can't know how long things take me. If I can do everything right, he'll let me come home." She confessed.

"Sam, it doesn't..." Jake tried, but he stopped when he saw a look cross her face. It didn't work like that. She did not have to earn her father's love, or his respect. If Wyatt didn't see how much Sam had improved, or how much coming home meant to her, he was a fool.

"This is an audition." Sam said, with a sardonic smile. "Big smiles, huh?"

"Sam, how long have you been thinking like this?" Jake asked. His heart was breaking. How could she think that anything anyone felt for her, thought of her, was conditional on anything? Love didn't work like that. The love people felt for her was unconditional, unfettered by expectations. "This whole time?"

"I'm not very good at not telling you things." Sam confessed, running her fingers over the thin paper of her Bible. "I tried."

"Why?" Jake asked, wondering if Jen had been running her mouth again. Her thumb caught on the edge of the book, and she looked up, smoothing out the crinkle in the fine paper as she replied. Jake couldn't help but read the passage that she had been reading. It was 1 Peter 4:8-11. 

_Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaining. Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received. Whoever speaks must do so as one speaking the very words of God; whoever serves must do so with the strength that God supplies, so that God may be glorified in all things through Jesus Christ. To him belong the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen._

"This isn't your problem." Her words were firm, almost as if she thought them to be true. She honestly thought that this whole situation was hers alone to bear? If she wanted to cherry pick the Bible to make herself feel like she had to do more to make her father feel welcome, to make herself feel that she had to bear her soul to this man who had done nothing to honor her, she had another thing conning. She was missing the whole point of the passage. Love, after all, went both ways. 

"Bull." Jake couldn't hide, didn't even try to hide, the scorn in his voice.

"Jake, there's my Bible right there!" Sam cried, shooting him a look full of reproach.

"I didn't say bullshit, Sam." He said, "And even if I did, Sam, you think the Book's got to be open for God to hear me do it?" God, Jake knew, about everything. Jake, though, wasn't exactly sure that God cared. His God had failed him, he had failed his God, and God, a being he had always viewed as benevolent and somewhat just had gotten his revenge. A just God, a just Universe, did not tear apart families and suck the souls out of people and leave them to suffer like some kind of dementor. Yeah, he and God were having problems. 

Sam rolled her eyes, closing the cover, "I woke up, about two hours ago, and I realized something."

"Hm?" Jake verbalized. His mind worked quickly. That meant Sam was functioning on four hours of sleep, if that.

"I've got to show Dad that I'm okay." Sam tried to explain.

Jake nodded, "You are okay." He paused. The circles under her eyes were heavy, and she was wrapped in his hoodie, as though she were freezing. It was fatigue, he realized, that chilled her."Aren't you?"

"Yes." She affirmed, clearly trying to set him at ease with a tiny, knowing, smile, "But you know Dad."

He did know Wyatt. He knew that Wyatt was confused, and conflicted. He knew that Wyatt was hiding things from everyone. He knew, most of all, that Wyatt would want, no matter what, for Sam to be happy. "Sam, please, come back to bed."

"No." She said, firmly. "I'm going to eat."

"You're hungry?" He clarified, excitement building within him.

"I said I would eat." She replied, with a smile, dashing his hopes that she was actually hungry. She was only eating to avoid eating later under Regina's assessing gaze.

"Okay." Jake replied, "What do you want?"

"Do you think we could manage something vaguely American?" Sam begged. Last night's dinner that Sue had insisted upon had been some sort of ethnic food that Jake hadn't liked either.

"Shoot. I was thinking French toast, Sam." Jake said, moving towards the fridge.

"It should qualify, if we use Sue's Wonderbread and margarine, right?" Sam replied, with a smile. Jake passed her a bowl, the milk, and eggs to set out. "How many do you want?"

"I don't know. Crack, like, four." He replied, as he passed her a fork. She took it and rose to go wash her hands.

"Jake, one egg makes three slices with that thin kind of bread!" Sam replied, "You don't need a dozen slices of french toast." Jake knew that Sam felt a surge of pride, sharing what she knew. He could hear it in her voice, vibrant and alive.

"Sam," Jake corrected, setting the pan on the tiny stove, "I'm a growing boy."

She relented, "I'll crack two eggs for you, then."

Jake felt nothing short of apprehension after breakfast was over. The Sam he knew was fading away. The girl with honest eyes and an expressive soul was being buried away. The woman with a shuttered expression and harder eyes was clearly bubbling forth from her, and he didn't like it. He didn't like that she was hiding her vulnerability from her father.

When Sue asked her a question before she left for work, her reply was distant, void of emotion and very factual. Jake knew she was gathering her strength, like an opera singer resting her voice before she went out on the stage and filled an music hall without the benefit of a microphone. He wandered to the couch, worry churning in his gut. After a time, Sam sat down next to him. He found himself holding her, knowing that when whatever she was feeling spilled forth, they'd figure it out together.

_If there ever was a time t_ _hat I could use your trust in me_

_And if there ever was a reason f_ _or me to get down on my knees_

_And if there's any way (if there's any way) t_ _hat you could love me anyhow_

_If you ever had much faith in me_ _I could use a little now_

_Believe Me Baby (I Lied)_ , Trisha Yearwood

Sam was ready. She had prepared for this, to build her case that she was ready to go home. The doorbell rang. She had been waiting on it for a good hour, counting down the minutes before they had to get to leave. Sam called, "The doorbell!" as she rose to go to the front door. She pushed herself up from the couch, first sliding to the edge, then putting her weight on her feet, then shifting forward, thinking "Nose over toes" and pushed up. Getting to her feet took two tries. Sam walked unevenly towards the entry only to see her father's tall form coming towards her.

"Jake answered." Dad said, "Hi, honey."

"Dad!" Sam said. "Glad you're finally here!" Her mind was not on her words, bummed as she was from all the effort of getting up, only to be beaten to the door. It was small, but it felt huge in the moment. He had to see that she could get the door.

"Nice to see you, too." He said, awkwardly, hugging her. His jacket was spritzed with and rain, and Sam felt a contentment she'd missed. His touch felt like the softest cotton, and Sam didn't know what to make of it. Her father was here, but she felt on edge, like she had to impress him. She didn't feel safer, not like she always had when Dad was around. Was she growing up? Was that what being older felt like?

Sam didn't sit. Instead, she turned to the table, and found the headphones to her iPod. Taking them, she saw that they were a knotted mess. She began to pick through the knots as her father began to talk. Jake, walking into the room, greeted her father. They seemed to be getting on okay, for which Sam was glad. She wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings, though, as forcing her fingers to comply with her mind took some effort.

Her father asked, breaking off an ongoing conversation with Jake, "Do you need help?"

Sam paused, losing her progress in the right string, and said, "No."

Dad made the mistake of asking, "You sure?"

Sam said, coolly, "I'm fine." She paused, awkwardly, "We were just getting ready to leave for the rehab. Do, do you, do you want to come, Dad?" Sam shoved the earbuds into Jake's hands. Jake's gaze told her that, no, she hadn't failed, but she knew better. He was only trying to soften the blow of her hurt. Her father had already seen her fail once. How hard was it to untangle some plastic strings? Oh, she thought, she should have thought of it beforehand. Now Dad knew just how pathetic she was.

"It's why I'm here, Sam." Her father said, hat in his hand.

"I thought you were here to visit." Jake said, "Sir." Sam looked at Jake, glad her father couldn't see her warning him about the angry twist to his tone that her father couldn't pick out in his even words. Sam could hear it easily, though, and wouldn't have it. Things had to go as well as possible. Perfect was clearly out of the question, now, but she hadn't failed the test yet, though her margin for error was slim.

"Actually, I came to talk to you, too, Jake. While Sam's doing her work, we can talk." Dad tried.

Regina came into the room, and said, "Miss Sam, if we don't go soon, we'll be late. Your Daddy can meet us there, I'm sure..." She paused, seeing Dad there. "Oh. You're here."

"Hello." He replied, "Wyatt Forester." The man, Regina saw, was tall and thin, worn down like sharpened steel. He was a whippet of energy, and Regina saw the fear in his eyes. She tried to make the man feel better. She was a nurse, after all, and not all pain was physical. Her heart broke for him.

"I'm Regina. I won't stand on formality." She smiled, "Now, Mr. Forester, I'm right glad to meet you. However, we do have a schedule. I'll just go get my things."

Wyatt nodded as Regina went to gather her bag. "Sammy, I was thinking we could go to lunch, after." Wyatt added.

"This isn't a vacation..." Jake started, but Sam cut him off with a look, one he knew all too well.

Sam faltered, taking back her did it matter, now? Dad would see her worn, and wrung out like a dishcloth. Her plan to show him she was well had already failed. She hated her iPod. "Uh, sure. We can."

"Pass it over, honey." Her father said. He took the iPod, and said, "See, if you slide the top out over, you lose the knot, and you can do the smaller ones. See?"

Sam knew that. She knew how to do it, she just couldn't make her fingers comply with her brain. Sometimes, they weren't nimble enough. It didn't help that she felt stressed and pressured.

Jake cleared his throat. "It's raining pretty heavily now, Sam."

"Seriously?" Sam replied, as she'd been hoping the drizzle would keep going. It would now take longer to get outside. Could this day get any worse?

_Long as I remember the rain's been comin' down._

_Clouds of myst'ry pourin' c_ _onfusion on the ground._

_Good men through the ages, t_ _ryin' to find the sun;_

_And I wonder, still, I wonder,_

_Who'll stop the rain?_

_Who'll Stop the Rain_ , Creedence Clearwater Revival

 

Sam looked out the door, and nearly groaned. It was pouring buckets. Jake came up beside her, a tomcat grin on his face. "We going to let a little rain hold us up?"

Hardly. Sam smiled. "Let's roll, Ely."

They were them again, braving the elements and facing down mother nature. Who cared if it was only a bit of rain, who cared if they were only going to the car? Who cared if there were no horses, no miles and miles of open range in front of them, in the mix? Jake's smile made her feel light inside. They were them, again. 

Turning around, she called in to the living room, "Regina, would you come with me, please?"

Sam fell into her element. There was a problem before her, one she could solve. She and Jake were back in action, playing their game. Nature was challenging them, but they were a team. This was nothing they hadn't faced before. And maybe, this little downpour wouldn't have caused her a problem before now, but it did now, and they could face it together. Ella said that acceptance was the first step of adaptation, and adapt she would. Maybe, if she could show Dad that she could adapt easily to challenges, he would let her come home.

Regina appeared, having been talking with her father, and said, "Are you canceling, then?"

"No." Sam said, firmly, "I just need to change my shoes." Sam whispered the last, hoping that Regina would pick up on the need to be discreet.

As was her way, she did, going into the room with the hospital bed. Sam followed, leaving Dad and Jake alone. "I'm just going to finish getting ready." Dad called back his assent, and Sam plopped down on the bed. She had been on her feet, moving around, for too long.

"Regina?" Sam asked, "In that box, there should be a pair of boots. Can you dig them out for me?" Sam avoided thinking of the fact that Gram had sent some of her necessities down, while she was still in the hospital, before she'd even been transferred to the rehab. Seeing the contents had ripped through her like a knife. She had shoved the lid down, unable to look at the contents, tools for a life she no longer led.

Seeing her boots in Regina's hands should have felt like a victory. It should have felt like confidence, as Regina helped her to slide them on. It should have felt like control, as she had to tell Regina how to tie them. Finally, Sam leaned down, and tried to pull the laces herself. Seeing the boots on her feet didn't feel like confidence, or control. She felt like a clown, like a poseur in her own life. The shoes were a haunting reminder of all that she'd lost.

She did not think of the time she'd had to cut the laces, using her knife nimbly to saw through the thick laces. She did not think of all the times the small heel had kept her in the saddle, nor all of the times they'd kept her feet dry in the La Charla. She thought, instead, of the fact, that these boots would not be deep in clay and mud, but rather stark against asphalt and pavement, and the metal footplates of her chair. "Thanks, Regina."

Finally, her fingers, with Regina's help, tied the laces. Regina tossed Sam's sneakers into her bag, so that Sam would have them for her session. Sam stood, as Regina said, "Well, now, those boots sure look loved. Come on, dear, we'll be late."

Sam did not reply, leaving the room quickly. Every cowgirl loved her work boots. Everyone said they ought to have glitter kickers, but the real measure of a girl, she'd always thought, was not the brand of her dress boots, but rather the care she put into her work ones.

"Which car are we taking?" Sam asked, sitting down, uncaring that she would have to stand again soon. It was really hard to keep walking around, and even though she was working on building up stamina, the pain that shot through her from overuse was staggering. Jake saw, she knew, because he saw everything, and made a nonverbal promise to take up some of her weight when she next stood.

"We can take the truck." Dad offered. Sam nodded, and looked to Jake, a fresh question in her eyes.

"Should be fine. He's got a good spot." Sam understood that it was close to the house, and not too far to walk over the slippery pavement. "Where's your coat?"

"A little rain won't hurt." Sam denied, but she acquiesced as Jake put on his own coat, and grabbed hers from the bedroom. She saw Dad's eyebrows go up, being that Jake had just walked right in there, and returned with his own things. She couldn't think of an explanation that wouldn't cause an overreaction the size of a Fat Man at Bikini Atoll in 1946.

Jake held out her coat. Sam put it on, glad that her father was talking to Regina again, glad that he couldn't see her fumble with the zipper. "You ready?"

"Sure, Sammy." Dad said. Actually, she had been talking to Jake, but she didn't need to say it. Jake had known that her words were for him. "Let's go, honey."

"Miss Sam," Regina began, "I'm fixing to take the chair out from..." Sam recalled that she had asked Jake to put it in the Scout earlier, so as to make the transition to the car as fast as possible. She didn't want Dad to realize how long the whole process actually took, even at the best of times.

"Regina, I'm sure Jake won't mind doing it for you." Dad asserted, walking easily towards the door. Sam felt rushed. She hadn't even grabbed her Jansport yet. 

Sam stepped aside, shaking off the support that Jake had provided since she'd stood up. She hadn't expected that Jake would go, would defer to her father, but of course he would. Dad rarely asked him to do something directly, and when he did, why, Jake went. It was how things went. Sam tried to tramp down the urge to say, "No." to beg him to stay with her. She couldn't, though, because in doing so, she'd have to admit that the steps were slippery when soaked, and that the rain often made her blink hard, meaning she could easily lose her balance if she wasn't careful.

Jake shook his head, "I'll go, once Sam's in the car."  

Sam exhaled, not knowing her breath had frozen in her lungs. To fall in front of her father would have been horrible. She would not fall down the steps. Dad heard her, and looked embarrassed, "I didn't think, Sam, about you needing help."

She shook her head, basking in the moment of her father's care. "It's only because of the rain." Sam promised herself that her fear of Jake not being there to catch her if she fell had everything to do with the rain, and nothing to do with the fact that she wanted him near to her.

With that, Sam moved towards the door, expecting to lose her footing as she often did when standing in water. Her boots, heavy and much missed on her feet, kept her footing sure.

Still, when she took the first step down, Jake was there, in front of her, his right hand in her left. His hand was rough, hardened from work. It felt like the only solid thing in the entire world as her senses went haywire. The rain was too loud, too loud, too loud. She had no idea of where her limbs were at, as her vestibular awareness shifted. She had no idea which was was up. 

Her proprioceptive senses were equally at odds with reality. She was terrified to come down the stairs, terrified to move without some awareness of where her body was and what it was doing. If they fell, Jake would get hurt and... 

The rain was so loud, she could barely think. 

The sound of the rain was deafening to her ears. The sound of it hitting the stairs and pavement sounded nothing like the rain at home. For a second, Sam wished with all her might, that they were home, and that her hat was on her head.

"Sam!" Jake said, above the rain, "Focus!"

"Jake?" She asked, getting down another step. Her proprioception did not keep up, and her vestibular senses provided feedback that she did not need. Jake would not let her fall. 

The rain ran quickly over his jacket. She knew he was dying to pick her up, and head to the car. Sam knew, too, he could do it easily enough, but in difference to her wishes he said, "Brat, stay with me."

Sam grinned, and squeezed the hand offered to her, though she looked down as she slowly went down the steps. "I'm terrified..." She whispered, "that someone's going to come out." The neighbors in the duplex, she meant, and that they would fall down the steps in the shuffle. Of course, he knew what she meant, without her having to spell it out, and she took comfort in the fact that they knew each other so well that they could trust each other with their fears without the need for words to express them.

Jake spoke, over the rain, "Well, if Quinn decides to come out, I'll be sure to let him you're not going to be happy."

"Don't be mean." She said, making it to the landing. He was such a liar, and Quinn would knock him into New England, if Jake was joking about something that was so untrue. Sexuality was never a joke, and they would have to have words later. He'd been hanging around Darrell for too long, with his disgusting jokes and his easy discussion of sex. Statistically, Jake was more likely to be gay than Quinn. It had something to do with estrogen in the womb or something. Sam knew he wasn't even the least bit attracted to men. Quinn wasn't either. 

The next step was the large one, and she had to leverage nearly all of her weight to make it down, feeling the strain in her hip flexion as she did. "I'm down!" She huffed, even as she felt like she was falling. "I'm down."

"Yeah." Jake said, as she pressed up against him. Even with their coats, he radiated heat. It was then that she heard an easy, lazy tomcat happy, note in his voice, one that made her shiver, and not from the cold. It was probably because her hair was soaking wet, now, as her hood had fallen back. Sam unconsciously pushed up on her feet. 

He cleared his throat quickly, "Three more, Brat."

Within moments, they were down the steps. Sam wiggled her toes in her boots as they bolted, moving as quickly as possible over the pavement. Jake helped her along, and Sam couldn't help but smile and look up to the sky. She felt so united with the universe in the moment. They moved down the sidewalk, and his hand was hers, and her hood was flying backwards, and she couldn't help but laugh. 

The door opened, and she was boosted into the truck quickly. Sam fell back over the seat, slip-sliding because her feet didn't reach the bar. She ended up flat on her back, her elbows breaking her fall. She was sitting on the hem of her coat. She couldn't move, couldn't turn, trapped by the fabric as she was.

Sam could feel Dad's gaze, heavy on them, as Jake pulled her up to sitting, wrapped and arm around her and said, "Boost." Jake's mustang eyes held hers fast, secure, as she unconsciously obeyed. He let go, and Sam put her hands down flat behind her on the seat, and pushed up, giving Jake enough space to push the coat up, allowing her to turn to sit correctly on the bench seat. His hands didn't linger, but she felt them, exploding like starbursts on her skin, even over her damp clothing.

Her father's gaze was like flint as Sam's wide smile faded and she yanked up the zipper on her coat. She had forgotten to feel embarrassed at how long that had taken, how much work it really was. Time didn't matter with Jake. He always seemed content to be with her, to be in the moment. That wasn't exactly normal, she knew, and she also knew that what Dad had observed was not the longest time it had taken her to do anything. 

By the time she'd finished turning and fumbling with the buckle, the door had shut and Jake was inside the truck. Heat blasted in the cabin. Sam was glad the shiver that passed down her spine could be blamed on the weather. She didn't know what it was.

The only words that were exchanged in the cab after that were Regina's directions to her father.

_I'm saving up dimes for a rainy day,_

_I got about a dollar laid away._

_The wind's from the south and the fishing's good,_

_Got a potbelly stove a cord of wood._

_Mama turns the leftovers into hash,_

_I'm doin' alright for country trash._

_Country Trash_ , Johnny Cash

"Jake, let's go for a walk." Wyatt asked, pushing to his feet as soon as Sam rolled away with Kyla.

Jake didn't want to go, but there was no way to deny Wyatt without explaining that he didn't like to leave Sam. She had begged him to not expose her weakness, and in protecting her, he had to deny his own needs. He had to be strong, even as he knew she was stronger.

The thing with the iPod had bugged him all morning. Wyatt had just had to take it from Sam, when anyone with eyes could have clearly seen she was getting there on her own. Wyatt, with a streak of pride the size of Texas, could not allow his only child her own pride. And still, she had smiled at her father, and thanked him for help she had not wanted. He hated it. It felt worse than a thousand "I'm sorries..." or "I hate to ask, but..." all rolled into one. 

"Okay." Jake stood, "I'll go tell Sam."

"We'll be back, Jake." Wyatt said, confusedly, ignored as Jake rose.

Sotto voce, Wyatt asked Regina, "What's this?" It wasn't low enough, not with Jake's tracker's hearing. 

Regina filled him in, as Jake walked away. "Sir, they don't go anywhere without telling the other."

"Oh." Wyatt said. Jake couldn't see the look on his face, but he could hear the confusion and the tinge of anger as he walked out of earshot.

Like as not, Wyatt wanted to talk about the fact that he and Sam had taken their time getting to the car. It could have been done and over in thirty seconds, if Wyatt hadn't been staring them down the whole time, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. They were working together, and they'd always done that, so Jake didn't understand why Wyatt looked so pensive. At least he had cleaned out the truck for Sam. He had never seen Wyatt's truck look so pristine. 

He found Wyatt by the large door to the therapy room, and they left in the room in silence. What could Wyatt have to say? He hadn't said much all morning, although he hadn't had much time to do it. The car ride was short, and things had been hectic with the rain.

In the hallway, their strides matched evenly. Wyatt spoke, "Jake, I just want to thank you."

"For what?" Jake was apprehensive as they approached the alcove. Outside, a steady rain was still falling, fog rolling in from the bay. The bleak outdoors suited his mood fine. The rain had been fun, if only that he got to see Sam look up into the narrow strip of sky that the city offered, and inhale deeply, uncaring about the fact that they were racing across a wet parking lot, nearly fifteen minutes late for her appointment.

Had they not had an entourage, likely there would have been a lot of laughter as he pushed the chair quickly, kicking up water from the puddles with the knobbly wheels. They probably wouldn't have cared about making the appointment. It would have been easy to justify goofing off, just because the moment was there, and the opportunity had presented itself. Jake knew he would have been content just to be with her, no matter when or even if they reached their destination.

"For...everything." Wyatt said, "You were right, son, and I needed to get my head on straight. I wasn't being fair to you both. It's hard, sometimes."

Jake didn't know what to say. Wyatt was thanking him for getting through to him. Jake didn't understand why. He'd expected hurt, anger, maybe even castigation. The man's gratitude was a lot to bear, and filled him with a rush of emotions. The words hung between them, unexpected and loaded. Just as Jake began to reply about how happy Wyatt's realization made him, the older man moved.

Shifting his weight, Wyatt took a folded scrap of paper out of his pocket, and said, "Here."

"What's this?" Jake asked, unfolding it. It was a check, drawn on Wyatt's account. Jake assumed it was a paycheck. "Wyatt, I haven't worked a day in weeks." He hadn't earned this money. The sum was more than he normally earned, anyway. He couldn't imagine how Wyatt hadn't seen that. Since starting the business up with Darrell, he'd taken less pay from Wyatt, simply because he'd worked less hours.

Wyatt met his startled eyes calmly. "Son, I know you're saving to finish school, and being here has got to have taxed what you've got saved up. I want you to take this..."

"Are you paying me to leave?" Jake cut him off, pain and betrayal racing through him, stealing his ability to think. This was low. His father taking his keys was almost forgivable, but if they thought he could be bought away, paid to leave San Francisco, they were absolutely insane. Were his own parents in on this?

"No, son." Wyatt shook his head, softly, "I'm trying to help you to stay."

After a moment of wonder and gratitude that Wyatt was going to stand down, let Sam and him be, Jake's blood boiled. They didn't need a cent from Wyatt to live life. He didn't need Wyatt to make his way in life. He valued Wyatt's tutelage, his training, their relationship, but he was not beholden to him. He was not a sycophant. He couldn't be paid to fill a role, like a nanny or a nursemaid. What was Wyatt doing? Paying him to be Sam's friend? Paying him to betray her, to trade her loyalty and her support for a bit of cash and shame?

She trusted him to care for her, because she was his friend, because they were a team, not because he was being paid to do it. She had begged him, days ago, to be there because he wanted to be, not because he was obligated out of guilt or money. She knew that he was there for her, not because she was hurt, but because Sam was herself. He would not sell her out, not for anything, not even if it meant turning down the ability to work towards a secure life. "I don't need your money, Wyatt." Jake stated, "We don't need your damn money."

"I'm only trying to..." Wyatt broke off, startled, "She's my daughter. I don't expect you to take on..." Wyatt seemed uncertain, and broke off again, as though he was realizing something big. Jake looked away quickly as an Orthodox woman moved through the hallway, her swishy skirt breaking into the silence as she called out to her son as he raced along to the play area at the end of the hall, reminding Jake that they were not alone here. He would mind himself for the sake of the kids down the hall. 

He didn't expect what? What was so surprising? He didn't expect Jake would take care of his own family? Didn't expect that he could do what needed to be done, handle meeting their needs? "Let's get it out, right now, okay?" Jake bit out, "I won't take a cent, we clear?"

"Jake." Wyatt said, " I know how much gas you've been using. Haven't..."

He had been using a lot of gas, but what was it to Wyatt? He didn't need Wyatt to make his way. There was a certain level of pride a guy had. Wyatt had dealt them the hand they were playing, but he would not control the deck forever. If he took this money now, it would set a precedent, and worse yet, it would be a betrayal of Sam's trust in him. "Sam and I don't need your money to make it."

"What?" Wyatt exclaimed. "Son, you do work for me."

Oh. That's what this was. They were too intertwined, Jake saw, him and Wyatt. Wyatt would not use his job, his role as his boss, to influence the choices he made for...Well, the choices he made.

He saw clearly where Wyatt was going. He wouldn't "work" for Wyatt, to be his eyes in San Francisco. He would not do it. Suddenly, the order to move the chair made sense. He wasn't Wyatt's employee, one who was subservient to him, who was below him, not in this context. He had to define their relationship cleanly.

"No, I don't." Jake said. If Wyatt was going to make him choose, it was an easy choice. Fuck, it wasn't even a choice, at all. "I quit, Wyatt. I'm done."

The new fracture in the hesitant mend they'd created this morning hurt, ripped him open. He thought they had done better, that the anger he had been feeling had faded as they'd talked, but pain still burned through him as Wyatt said, "Jake, you're not understanding me..."

"Consider this my notice." Jake said, resignedly. "I'll call Dallas, and square it away. I know some guys looking for work."

"Jake..." Wyatt tried to force the check in his hand. Seeing no other way to drive his point home, Jake took it, tore it in six pieces, and tossed it in the trash bin in the alcove. He couldn't bear this mess. Life did not come down to money. He would trade every cent he had, to know that Wyatt understood his position.

They were family. Family cared for one another. Family did not think about paybacks, about money, about the material things. Maybe, Jake thought, maybe Sam was more his family than Wyatt was. Why did people keep trying to say that their role in her life superseded his? They were friends. You couldn't chose who your parents were, but you could chose your friends, and he and Sam had chosen each other, above all others, even when everyone else had forsaken them.

"Jake?" Wyatt asked, horsely, something like pride shining in his eyes. Jake realized that he was standing in front of the trash can, staring at the fragments of the check, much like he heard the fragments of a formerly strong bond in Wyatt's voice. He had to focus on what held them together, or there would be nothing left, no reason for Wyatt to be standing before him.

"Come on." Jake replied, meeting the man's eyes, "Sam's almost done. We need to be there, when she is."

_Oh I know you can hear me b_ _ut I'm not sure you're listening_

_I hear what you're sayin' b_ _ut still there's something missin'_

_Whether I go whether I stay r_ _ight now depends on_

_Whatever you say_

_Whatever You Say_ , Martina McBride

The restaurant plan was thankfully canceled, due to the wind and rain. Sam was beat down, dead tired, as Kyla turned her out. She tried to hide it from Daddy, but she could not deny how nice it was to curl up on the sofa. After an awkward time of visiting, Jake excused himself to shower, and Sam sipped her bagged tea, wishing it was Gram's rose hip tea. She'd get the story out of Jake later, because she knew something had happened between them. "Dad?"

He replied, "Yeah, Sammy?"

"We...should talk." Sam began. She had to be the big girl, and start one of the conversations she dreaded most in her entire life.

Dad nodded, setting his own mug on the table in front of them, as he asked, "What do you think of it here?"

"It's not home, Dad..." Sam tried to be diplomatic, twisting her fingers in the throw that was on top of her. She would not knock Sue, who had been kind to her, but she was not willing to lie outright. She would withhold information about herself in her actions, in her deeds, but not in thought and word.

"It could be." Dad ventured, as they watched the wind blow and heard it howl outside the window before them.

Ice spread through Sam, as she begged him to explain, "Dad?" Would he really do that? Leave them, leave her, her mind corrected, leave her here?

"Isn't it easier, getting around, doing things, here?" He turned the question back around.

Sam paused, startled by his question. She didn't really have a point of comparison. She knew though that she needed to come clean, about how much planning and preparation had gone in to to today. She knew that her planning had created a lie so as to allow her to make it seem like life was easier here. It hurt to know that her falsehood had backfired on her. She wished, for a second, that she had been honest from the start. "No, Dad. It isn't." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm not going to lie. I tried to, all day..."

"You tried to what, Sam?" Dad asked, softly.

Sam confessed, ready for his disappointment, "To lie. I tried to make you think that it was easy, here. But I spent hours getting ready." She continued, "I tried to show you that I'm okay. And I really am."

"Why would you do that, Sam?" Dad asked, looking her dead in the eye. Disappointment did not mar his face. Sam wondered why he looked so sad.

"Because I thought if I could make you see that I'm okay, you'd let me come home." Sam clarified. "But, the truth is, my life's going to be a struggle, no matter where I am, right now. I would rather have to work hard to function where I want to be. Maybe then, the challenge would mean something."

"Oh, Sammy." Dad said. His expression was shattered, "I didn't realize... I thought you were happy here."

Sam sniffed, venturing, "Ella thinks that going home would be good."

"Does she?" Dad asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Dad." Sam changed the subject, sorry to have brought up her sessions with Ella. Dad didn't hold much to talking things out like Ella stressed, "I've got to pick my battles. Let me come home."

"Sam, you can't make that call." Dad said, warily, shifting on the couch.

"No, Dad." Sam said, relying on a million conversations with Ella and Jake to admit the truth, "Only you can make it. I know that."

He said, "You do?"

"I'm trying to be as honest as I can." Sam said, "And honestly, Dad, I need to try. Will you let me?"

"Try?" He mused, like he hadn't heard the word before. Dad, leaned forward, abruptly, "Give me a few minutes." With that, he touched her face, his work roughened thumb resting under her mother's eyes. Clearing his throat, he stood, and walked away.

Sam felt numb inside. She had poured out her soul to her father, and he had walked away from her. She needed privacy. She needed to be left alone, she needed to cry. She needed Jake. Uncaring of anything, she knocked quickly on the bedroom door that was being used by Jake. She knew he'd be dressed, as no one ever left the bathroom without being clothed. "Jake?"

He didn't reply and so she waited another minute. She tried again, "Jake?"

"Miss Sam, he's in here." Regina said, happily.

Sam pivoted to come there, just as her father called out, "Come here, please."

Sam squared her shoulders, and moved the tiny distance into the kitchen. She didn't want to go in there. She knew what was going to happen. The point was driven home when Jake avoided meeting her eyes. Sam sucked in a breath. Dad had no doubt insisted that Jake go, though she knew that he wouldn't be gone for long.

Sam sat down, carefully, to avoid moving the chair about, "Yes?"

"Well, Sammy, I'm thinking that maybe you're right." Dad said, "I've been thinking I should do more listening to you kids. You can come home."

Did he really say that? Sam's mind begged her to continue listening, even as she wanted to bolt up and throw on her shoes. How funny that would be, to be standing by the door before the words were even out of his mouth.

A strangled laugh escaped her thinking up the image, as her father continued, "But only to see how things go. If it doesn't work, you're coming right back here, hear me?"

"Yes sir." Sam replied, knowing she'd die before letting herself fail this test. Sam looked to Jake, and she knew why he hadn't met her eyes before. He was grinning outright, his brown eyes aglow. One glance would have given it away. Her own smile grew in response to his smiling eyes, and even across the room, they began to communicate, working out their plans. Ideas flew quickly between them, another sentence beginning before the last one had really ended. 

A raised eyebrow was all she needed to see to know that... 

No, Sam didn't like that idea. They really should... 

With a slight frown, Jake disagreed, positing that they should really--

Her father cleared his throat, interrupting their conversation, "And Regina will come along, for the weekend, provided you get clearances from Dr. Francis and Ella."

"I can do that tomorrow." Sam promised, flicking a look at Jake. He agreed, with a side glance at the phone in the tiny kitchen.

Her father added, "And you'll come back here, for a while, even if things work out, to square things off."

"Yes." Sam promised, knowing that Jake would come back, too. A few more days one way or the other didn't really matter, not when she was coming home. Her heart was full to bursting, joy filling her.

Her father wasn't done yet. "And while you're home, we're going to make some tough decisions, Sam. School. Those things. There are things you need to know..."

Sam cut him off, with her sole concern, "Together?"

Her father nodded, with a smile. "Alright, go talk it out."

Sam didn't need to be told twice. Jake was on her heels. Wind howled outside, but Sam didn't hear it, not when she impulsively wrapped her arms around Jake in a hug filled with joy. We're going home, she thought, home. Jake wrapped his arms back around her in return, after a second's hesitation. _Home_.

Sam inhaled, breathing in the scent of Jake's t-shirt. _Home_.

_I know, no matter what it takes_

_I'm coming home I_ _'m coming home_

_Tell the world that I'm coming home_

_Let the rain w_ _ash away a_ _ll the pain of yesterday_

_I know my kingdom awaits a_ _nd they've forgiven my mistakes_

_I'm coming home_ _I'm coming home_

_Tell the world I'm coming_

_Coming Home (Pt. II)_ , Skylar Grey

 


	10. Free and Easy (Down the Road I Go)

_Won't you take me where the poor man lives?_

_It's where I call home_

_And can't you see that a breeze is just a change in pace?_

_And money can't buy my soul, b_ _ecause it comes from a hard earned place._

_Southside of Heaven,_ Ryan Bingham

 

Jake shifted from foot to foot, feeling every inch of his frame as he moved. He hadn't felt this way in years, not since he'd shot up in middle school. He felt gangly, overgrown, not quite suited to his frame. Sam was on the phone in the other room, and Jake was at loose ends, staring at his fingers, wondering if his hands were attached to his limbs, limbs that felt too long. He flexed his fingers, trying not to think of the words Sam had whispered last night. Regina, too, was waiting with baited breath for the word from the doctor, though she seemed content to knit.

He had spent all evening last night thinking, long after Wyatt left for home. He couldn't be bought. Was Wyatt really trying to say that it all came down to money, that Jake was still some boy who needed to be provided for, rather than a man who could provide? His hurt was quickly buried, under the tasks of making plans to go home, though, and he tried not to think about Wyatt Forester.

Sam called the doctors, before the close of business, and left messages. Ella, ever modeling the behavior she wanted to see from her clients, returned her call first thing. Dr. Francis had not been so prompt, and mid-morning found Sam sitting by the phone, drumming her broken nails and bruised fingers against the Queen Anne style end table that contained the house phone.

Jake, last night in the dark, came to a conclusion about his relationship with Wyatt. They could be civil, for Sam's sake. There would be no animosity from him, if the topic concerned Sam. No matter what Wyatt thought of him, Jake would do his best, no matter that it hurt that Wyatt thought so little of him.

Wyatt didn't seem all that angry at him, surprisingly, by the time that he left. He seemed to look at Jake as though he were puzzling out something, pulling out information like taffy, twisting it in his mind, and not liking the conclusion he'd come to. It couldn't be helped, though, and the man left for Darton County, without saying one word about taking Sam's things. It was just as well that the planning began after he left. An early dinner with him had gone on long enough, and he didn't stay for dessert.

Over Sue's tea service and a thankfully store-bought pie, it was arranged so that Regina could work her normal hours and have the evenings off just as she would in San Francisco. Sam called and left a message on her father's machine, but no one called back. Sam thought that was odd, but Sue promised she would try again as well, as she hugged them goodbye soundly. Cell phone reception was spotty at best in certain areas. They all wrote it off, as they'd just seen him yesterday. Jake had told his parents they were coming, and they'd offered to put Regina up, who agreed quickly to the use of the guest room.

Regina smiled, as her knitting needles clacked, "Sam was lucky to get the doctor on the phone so early."

Jake made an inarticulate sound of agreement. He didn't have the heart to tell Regina that it hadn't been luck that had gotten Sam what she wanted. It would destroy Sam's image of being such a "sweet girl" in Regina's eyes. Everytime Regina said something like that, Jake could barely keep from laughing until he fell on the floor. Luck comprised almost nothing of Sam's persistence. She called the doctor's practice at least five times, using every number she had to get the man on the line. Finally, her persistence paid off, and her call was returned. Probably, the man wanted to get her off his back. Jake left the room, giving her some semblance of privacy, a gift they'd determined to be rare indeed over the years. 

Jake stepped forward once, unable to wait any longer, and excused himself to the bedroom. He found his duffel bag, and began to work quickly, tossing his clothes into the bag with precision. His books and pillow were tossed atop the toiletries that topped the clothes. Finally, he added the Book. With an air of confidence, Jake pulled the zipper shut, elation rising within him. Sam had packed last night, but something had held him back from packing until it was sure thing. He was as sure as he could be, now. Why else would the conversation be taking so long?

He spun around on his heel and exited the room quickly. The other room, the one that held the hospital bed, contained several boxes that had been shoved in the corner. On top of the boxes sat a green bag with black netting. Sam's 4H duffel bag quickly was pulled open, and he stared at it. Memories of her using this bag hit him, memories of camping trips, and drives, and a million other things. It didn't matter now, where the bag had gone, for it was returning to its customary place in her closet. Jake hoped it would stay there forever.

It hit him, looking at her bag, hard. They were going home.

This moment felt so different and full. Jake couldn't articulate why, but he felt a bloom of hope in his chest, whereas when he'd come down here, all he had felt was a desperate surety in his soul, an unbreakable resolution to fix the wrong that defined their separation. Now, the situation was different. Jake no longer felt empty, no longer felt dead inside. His excitement was welling up within him, causing him to fumble with his cell phone. He chose to ignore messages from Darrell. Nothing, not even business, would spoil today.

"Regina?' Jake spoke, "Would you...?" He intended to ask her if she was as ready as Sam was, having packed most of her clothes with Sue last night. Sue had insisted upon being involved in the process to the point that Sam abdicated control of packing to her aunt. Rather than being disappointed that they were going home, she was excited, as though she were going herself.

"I don't know if we can leave today, Jake." Sam cut in, entering the room, sadness clear on her face.

What did she mean? He should have waited, should not have packed. That was why he always waited. He waited, made sure of things, not wanting to raise his hopes. Impulses were not usually his style, and this was why. Sam, after a quick glance, answered his unspoken question.

Sam supplied, sitting on the bed, "He wants me to stop by, get checked out."

"Probably a good idea, Brat." Jake tried to reassure both of them, as his heart slowed. He watched as Sam shot him another look, reminding him that Regina did not understand the whole Brat thing. The woman could deal, he supposed. And anyway, a check-up before they headed out was a good idea. It certainly would help Sam to know how she was doing.

"Yeah." Sam pulled at a loose thread in her robe's pocket, "My appointment's in an hour. Can we be packed and ready? We'll just leave from there."

"You're sure?" Jake asked, flicking a look at Regina, who seemed to agree to leaving. There would be quite a bit to do.

"If we're going to go, let's go." Sam pulled hard, breaking of the thread with a sound snap, "No sense in putting things off."

Jake had never agreed with her more.

_Blue skies smilin' at me_

_Nothin' but blue skies do I see_

_Blue birds singin' a song_

_Nothin' but blue skies from now on_

_I never saw the sun shinin' so bright, never saw things goin' so right_

_Blue Skies,_ Willie Nelson

Getting ready, Sam thought, had not been easy, but it had been fairly quick, rather like pulling off a band-aid. Once they'd made up their mind to leave directly from the hospital, things fell into place quickly. Sam tried not to think as Jake took out all of her equipment, quickly folding down the shower chair, adding the tool kit for the wheelchair to the trunk, and those sorts of things.

Regina helped her to pack her medications. The collection took up an entire pocket in her duffel, even with the cosmetic bag and the supply in the Jansport. The nebulizer found a spot, wrapped in its case, on the floorboard in the back, tucked behind an extra pillow. Adding the orange bottles to her pack made her sad. Gone were the days where she could throw on her boots, toss some jeans in her pack, and head out. Now, she needed all of things to survive, to function. She felt trapped, and burdened.

Her luggage for a simple weekend at home contained so much she might need. She had everything from homemade hot packs to a huge bottle of aloe, because her skin was so sensitive right now, and the aloe helped, if only mentally. "Sam?" Jake loitered from the door, "You ready?"

"Yeah." She tore her gaze from the paintings, wondering if she'd ever think about picking up a brush without her head hurting, "Got all your stuff?" Sam took one last look around the living room, and adjusted the note to Sue on the end table. Her Aunt knew, of course, that she was leaving, but Sam didn't feel right about not leaving a note.

"Yeah." Jake stepped forward, holding her elbow as they moved towards the door, "Sue left us some sandwiches."

Sam returned his grimace, looking to her up to her left, ""Do we actually intend to eat them?"

"Brat, I'd sooner eat cardboard." Jake admitted sheepishly, "It might not kill us."

"I'll buy you Denny's." Sam made an offer, as they walked out the door. No matter what she'd promised Dad, she didn't want to come back here. Sue had been lovely to her, but San Francisco didn't exactly hold the best of memories. Everywhere she looked, she saw pain, and hurt.

"We'll see..." Jake hedged. Sam rolled her eyes, and broke the touch between them. With an inhalation, and a prayer, Sam pulled the door shut. It clicked firmly. She checked the knob, and they walked away without a backward glance.

The girl that had suffered and cried, lost parts of herself and begged for death crossed a threshold, literally. There would be no turning back. If she came back, it would be with a fuller understanding of the woman she was. There was hope for the future, and the open road was before them.

_It sounds like 1963_   
_But for now it sounds like heaven_

_May the wind take your troubles away_   
_May the wind take your troubles away_   
_Both feet on the floor, two hands on the wheel_   
_May the wind take your troubles away_

_Windfall,_ Son Volt

"You ready?" Jake straightened the rearview mirror and flipped his visor down. The sun was blinding. The hospital parking lot was busy, and he started the Scout, hoping he wouldn't hit the M3 that wanted their spot. The woman smiled in thanks, and Sam saw that Jake couldn't help but return her grin.

"Let's roll." Sam could not contain her excitement. She was going home. The doctor had not proved a worthy adversary. She was going home. Everything would be okay. She decided that for this trip, there would be nothing but the open road, and their joy. She forced everything else away, and turned on the radio. "Any requests, Regina?"

"Don't go out of your way for me." The woman replied, pulling out an MP3 player. "I've got a audiobook that Morgan Freeman narrates. I could listen to him read the phone book." Regina said, with much relish. "His voice could tempt a nun to sin." 

"Alright." Sam smiled affably. She was selfishly glad that, in some way, these coming moments would be hers and Jake's alone. A glance at him said that he agreed.

Car rides were their time. You could, Sam thought, say anything, talk about anything, in these moments. Car rides were sometimes stressful, like the time _somebody_ insisted that it was imperative he go to this new feed store, and they'd gotten lost as lost could be in the middle of nowhere. Sam knew the middle of nowhere was relative, but this place made Alkali look like the San Fernando Valley.

Another time, Dad shipped them off to check on a client as they readjusted to being home, and they'd gotten caught in a downpour, which required them to pull over, and wait the rain out. Sam's mind recalled the moment. Rain hit the ground, and hopped up, like bugs trying to escape a jar. They were on a deserted stretch of highway, with no one around for miles, and Sam had done one of the things that thrived within her soul as one of her best memories.

She had stood toe to toe with Jake Ely in a rain storm, and stolen his hat. They'd had to throw a tarp over the truck bed, knowing it was probably too late, as they hadn't been using the Scout. In the rain, they had ended up drenched and laughing over some joke she'd made. The sniffles they'd gotten from being soaked to the bone had been worth it, just to see the look on his face, as surprise from being hatless gave way to the humor Sam's joke brought forth. The radio had played Willie Nelson as they'd sat and waited out the storm, and Sam couldn't think of Willie Nelson without thinking about how wonderful that coup had felt, not to mention the peace that had fell over them, as they'd dried off in the cab, watching as the rain fell all around them.

"On the road again..." Sam began, memories fading, though the emotions stayed with her. She began flipping through the stations on the radio. "Just can't wait to be..." She didn't feel like pop music. The moment, she knew, this trip, would be something she would remember, and she wanted it to have a good soundtrack, at least in her head. Rock? Maybe. Nirvana? Not right now. She flipped that station. Rap? As if. Hmm. She pushed seek, again, and settled on finding some country music.

"Brat, if you're going to sing Willie Nelson, at least put him on." Jake shifted lanes, as they made their way towards the interstate.

"I'm in charge of the radio." Sam threaded her tongue between her teeth, still dissatisfied with the selections she'd come upon, "And I think what we need, Jake, is some Strait up road music."

"Fine, but if you put Garth Brooks on repeat again, I'll toss the CD out the window." Jake threat was large, but she knew his words were hollow. This coming from the guy who'd braved Wal-Mart for his very own box set and then hoarded like it was the last one on the shelf, threatening Quinn if he so much as breathed in the glossy black box's direction.

"It's your CD." Sam relaxing against the seat, unruffled. "Remember?"

"Hm. Can I get over to the left?" Jake flipped on the turn signal, and the soft click-click was like a balm to her soul.

"Yeah, just wait for this green Ford to go." Sam smiled, peeking out the window.

They slid into their roles so easily that it stole Sam's breath. She was finally, finally, free. She was, as they moved down the interstate, unhampered by the injury. Sure, the cars going fast beside them made her a bit disoriented, but that didn't matter. She was actually helping Jake like she always had. He drove. She called the shots from the passenger seat. He grumbled about her music choices, but sang along, under his breath, if he forgot himself.

That's how they were, how they had been, Sam knew, and she hoped this trip would be the same. The sun was bright on the dashboard, and the moments that sped by were absolutely perfect. She could not bring herself to analyze her joy, nor her desire to just drive, and drive, forever.

Driving down the road, it felt like nothing had changed. They could be going anywhere, doing anything. It felt like they were finally, finally, running away. The sun was bright above them, and the world felt right as the music played. Very little needed to be said, and very little was said of importance.

They talked, as they always did, of music, and books, and people they knew, the moments feeling timeless. Jake muttered, in his easy going way, about out of state drivers, until Sam pointed out archly that they were the out of state drivers. Jake didn't contradict her, and she knew that he was so content because he did not play devil's advocate.

There were, in these moments, no drama, and no pain. Sam could pretend that they were on the way back from someplace fun, loaded down with stories to tell, and not salves and scars. As they drove, she felt like she was being released from jail, freed from a prison she'd built in her mind. All the hurt was behind her, and the demons she had yet to confront were far enough away that she did not allow herself to consider them.

_Ooo life's so sweet right here in the passenger seat_

_Ooo yeah life's so sweet_

_When I look to my left, see his suntanned hands_

_His muddy river hair and his thousand-acre plans_

_I'm all shook up like a quarter in a can_

_Ain't life sweet in the passenger seat?_

_Passenger Seat,_ SHeDAISY

The asphalt sped by, and the Scout picked up the another station. Commercials seemed few and far between. The miles sped by and there was a part of her that never, never, wanted to get where they were going. She was too consumed by worries that she shoved away with the whole of her emotions.

Still, questions popped up, from time to time, as she visualized what it would be like to be home. What if she couldn't do things, even things the evil Dr. Francis had allowed? Okay, so the man wasn't really evil, he just had given her strict instructions. Sam did not like being told what to do. What if she couldn't function? What if Kitty and Ace hated her? What if Gram was really bad off and Sam couldn't help her?

"Sam?" Jake interrupted his initial musings, as SHeDaisy played on the radio, proclaiming things Sam understood all too well.

Sam glanced over at him, the sun glinting off of him, "What?"

"I can hear you thinking." He kept the Scout in the lane, even as he spoke, easily.

She grinned, and noticed that she was drumming her fingers on the armrest of the door. He'd heard her fingers, she realized, and was not actually capable of reading her mind. She thanked God for small mercies. "Well, what else am I supposed to do?"

"Be." Jake declared, flipping the station for something he didn't consider to be so Nashville. He should just admit, Sam thought, that he was a hipster snob when it came to music. He never would, though. "Just be."

"Foolish you are, for Yoda you are not." Sam imitated a small green being, with a smile. He'd somehow lucked out and found some Seger, without ever moving his eyes from the road. Sam wondered how he always got so lucky, and she had to flip, and flip, until she found a song she could live with.

Jake grinned in reply, and Sam's stomach flipped. She chided herself, wishing like heck she could stop overreacting. Now, not only did his touch make her go haywire, the mere thought of it drummed up some kind of recall, and she could swear she felt him, even now. Sometimes, the thought calmed her, and other times her reaction was decidedly the opposite. Her brain was completely messed up, and she cursed the injury that caused this silliness, even as she relished the feelings it gave her. She wouldn't trade the feelings she felt for anything. She only wished she could convince herself it wasn't wrong to feel things she ought not from a simple touch.

_I've seen you smiling in the summer sun_

_I've seen your long hair flying when you run_

_I've rnade my mind up that it's meant to be_

_Someday lady you'll accomp'ny me_

_You'll Accomp'ny Me,_ Bob Seger

Jake made a concerted effort not to speed, not to rush this. Sam's expression was one he'd do anything to see on her face, and he wondered fleetingly what she was thinking about. She drifted asleep for a moment, and woke easily.

An hour after that, Sam grew dissatisfied with the radio, "How did that flip go, by the way? I never asked."

Jake lowered his gaze, slightly, even as he kept his eyes on the road, "Darrell's calling the shots on that one."

He wasn't about to tell her that he'd not done a lick of work since the accident. He'd tried, once, because work and being alone were the only ways he could cope. After several hours, Darrell found him, staring into space in some living room. Darrell, being Darrell, overreacted and freaked out that Jake had been alone with all sorts of tools at the work site. He wasn't suicidal, but Quinn had been with Darrell, as though they were looking for him. He remembered the look in his brother's eyes as conclusions had been drawn.

They were jumped to and were ones Jake refused to give any credit by even thinking about. Quinn had dragged him home, and pretended, as all brothers should, that Jake hadn't bitten his tongue to keep from crying. Quinn had been his shadow, now that he thought about it, for a lot of time after that day.

"You're letting Mr. Shiney Shoes run a flip?" Sam blinked incredulously. Jake smiled, knowing she was only teasing Darrell and his way of dressing when he did showings. The man, surprisingly, liked sweater vests.

"He's got to learn, Brat, somehow." Jake's replied, falling back on one truth to avoid telling another, "'Sides, it's a low level flip."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, in deference to a sleeping Regina, "Low level, like...?"

She wanted to hear him talk, Jake knew. Sometimes, she just did, though God only knew why. Flips put her a bit on edge, being that she thought it would change Darton County. He wasn't trying to do that, just get work someone else would get if they didn't. "Low level, like it's easy. Some clean paint, some carpets, some electrical. Then all the other stuff." Jake dismissed the process as easy with a shrug, "Three weeks of work, tops."

Jake had been involved with flipping houses for some time, but only recently went out on his own with Darrell. He'd gotten his start picking up part time work laying tile for a guy Grandfather knew. Darrell's late Grandfather's will had provided the start up funds for a tiny flip two summers ago. Some guy, in over his head, threw in the towel and passed it off to them quickly, eager to wash his hands and go back to Oregon.

Jake enjoyed flipping. It was a project with clear goals, a process of getting things done. They could get a place, strip it to the studs if they needed to, and put some sweat into it. That sweat meant money, weeks later. He liked working with Darrell, because he was his own boss. He didn't much like handling the sales, but Darrell had sat for his real estate license last year when he'd finished high school, and he handled that end of the deal. Jake did most everything else, and he liked it that way fine.

They were making a decent living, as infrequently as they flipped a place. His cut paid tuition, anyway. They saved money because Seth did their legal work, and his brothers often came out to work on a flip if they had time. Adam liked to stop by on the off seasons, saying that knocking out walls gave him something to do.

Sam made a sound, one he knew to take as support of his work, even as the idea of tearing up houses and selling them to people they often didn't know made her nervous. She just didn't like change, and Darrell had promised a million times that they would never, upon pain of death, remove character from a house. Jake still had no idea what character was, but Sam did, and she fought Darrell tooth and nail to keep an eye out for it. He generally listened to her advice when she spoke up.

_And there you were like a queen in your nightgown_

_Riding shotgun from town to town_

_Staking a claim on the world we found_

_And I'm singing to you, you're singing to me_

_You were out of the blue to a boy like me_

_And I'm looking for you in the silence that we share_

_You were pretty as can be, sitting in the front seat_

_Looking at me, telling me you love me_

_4th of July, Shooter Jennings_

This trip was something he'd been looking forward to, for weeks. He hadn't known it, of course, but the situation felt so right that even Jake couldn't deny that he'd been waiting for this moment. San Fran was not their home. The city was vibrant and compelling, but nothing compared to home. When they were home again, Jake decided, things would be okay. He would work out whatever he needed to, with Wyatt, and he'd start working for Heck. Life had changed, would continue to change, but the things that mattered had finally come back to them.

Apprehension bloomed under his joy, even as he pushed it away. Sam deserved one day, one day of pretending that this hadn't happened, that things were like any normal day that they'd driven someplace. She deserved to pretend that there was no Regina sound asleep in the backseat, no troubles they could never outrun. She would have that day, if he could give it to her.

She was in her element, her loose, shorn, waves flying in the breeze from the open window. The sun shone, and illuminated her like the brightest of frames. "Jake?" Sam broke the companionable silence between them.

"Hm?" Jake passed a mini-van, and slowed down again, to settle into the steadiness of the moment.

Sam turned up the radio, slightly, as a song she loved came on. "Just making sure you're still here." Sam replied, an oft repeated joke.

"Who'd be driving the car, then?" Jake answered, as was expected.

Everything about Sam was so out of the blue. She told him things with a forthright honesty that stole his breath. Jake didn't deserve the kind of friendship she gave him, nor the steady support her presence in his life provided. He'd made this trip so many times, recently, but today, it was completely different.

_Honey if I had to choose, I_ _'d rather ride around with you_

_I don't care where this road goes_

_No, I don't wanna turn around_

_Let go of the wheel, feel the wind blow_

_Don't even think about slowin' down_

_I'd Rather Ride Around With You, R_ eba McEntire

Sam enjoyed the ride, she said, simply because she could get lost in the motion and the music. Jake was glad when sleep overtook her, as he stole glances over at her. Her skin was pale, but she'd gained a little bit weight, and she seemed stronger and more herself with every day that passed. Not that her medical condition was free and clear, even though she hadn't filled him on what Dr. Francis had said. She was probably stewing over restrictions placed on her for the trip home, but she would fess up sooner or later. No, Jake knew things were not free and clear. She still needed to reconnect parts of her brain and body, as it were. She frequently mentioned that her senses had changed, that she was more easily aware of changes in her balance and the texture of touch and the taste of food.

Last night, they'd been sitting, talking over the trip home, trying to figure out the logistics. In a lull, Sam had said something that still knocked him through a loop, just thinking about it, "Jake?"

"Hm?" He paused, looking at her, tired but alight with a joy he had missed like air.

She'd began, carefully, "Want to know something?"

"Yeah." He nodded, wondering where this was headed. Of course he wanted to know. What was that, as a question? He had been hesitant, when he'd realized that she was testing the waters, preparing for his reaction.

"My senses have changed." She met his gaze steadily, even as he saw that her eyes were foggy with pain and pain medication, "When you touch me, the sensation lingers on my nerve endings. I felt your hand on my arm for a good hour after you'd left, when you went home. Strange, huh?"

"Maybe your memory has improved?" He ventured. He knew that some of it was the injury. Some of the sensory processing issues were normal, and so he'd tried to rationalize it. He'd failed horribly, some part of himself buoyant as his heart insisted, as it often did, that it was them who made the mundane special. If it was him, him that made her feel that way, feel like he did, when she touched him.

"Hm, perhaps." She nodded, and added, "Maybe it's my superpower."

"Maybe." He'd smiled, as she'd tossed the notebook on the floor, with an impulsive thud, and gone to sleep.

If pressed to admit it even to himself, he noted that they'd touched a lot, even before he understood what it meant to her. It was a way of saying "Hey, I'm here, and you're here, too." that transcended words. As much as she felt touch reaffirmed where she was in the world, spatially, he knew he needed it just as much. What if a time came that she wasn't there to hug? Having her words, knowing that it was powerful for her, too, gave him another excuse, another reason, to not deny his own need to touch, not when she needed it.

More than that, though, Jake knew that a messed up brain wasn't her superpower. It had been a joke, one to put off the swirl of emotions within them both as she'd said that, confessed God only knew what, to change his world yet again. She really, he thought, really had to stop changing his world. It cost him his equilibrium more than he cared to admit. He'd spent sixteen years with her, and still, she hit him over the head with secrets, things he couldn't understand about her. He could understand, more than anything, that that they needed each other, day in and day out. He hoped that would never change.

Knowing he needed her had been a hard pill to swallow, simply because he'd only realized it when she was gone. It hadn't hit him that he'd needed her, not really, until he'd been standing in his room after he'd left the hospital, with no one to talk to, and nothing of importance to say. College had been hard, but not like the weeks at home without her, not like the weeks knowing she was gone with no way to bring her back.

It was loneliness at school, he knew, because he'd tried like hell to ease it, on the track, and even at some parties. His teammates had insisted he go, but every time some girl came up to him, he excused himself. It felt wrong, to be getting to know someone Sam didn't know, hadn't met. It was wrong, to draw impressions of someone without the tilt of her head or the quirk of her eyebrow to balance what he gathered himself. It felt wrong, to know things about some stranger that he would never know about Sam. It felt impossible to go through a day without talking to her, or failing that, wondering why she hadn't called. After the accident, the loneliness had become despair, torment, a kind of torture only they could understand.

Once he'd figured out that he needed Sam, the absolute rightness of the fact slid into his mind like a puzzle piece, and he wondered why he'd questioned the fact, even as grief and fear swallowed him whole. They'd always needed each other.

He realized, then, what going home from school had meant. He'd come home to visit often, annoying his mother. She was glad to see him, of course, but she fussed over him making friends at school. Those people didn't matter. He had Darrell, and some buddies from high school, if push came to shove. He had his brothers, who were better friends than anyone else, because he didn't have to worry about social convention with them. They knew him, and for the most part, they still liked him. Even when they didn't like each other, there was a relationship there that time couldn't erase. His college buddies wouldn't matter in five years. His ranch would. His family would, and he hoped he could make his parents see why he was doing what he was doing. He was doing it for him.

Jake wasn't giving up on his goals, though he knew his parents would see taking online classes as a cop out. He knew that this weekend, he'd have to come clean. He needed to sit them all down, and calmly, coolly, explain what his choices were. They'd have to understand that as an adult, he was going to make choices for his family. He wasn't too worried about Sam's reaction, truth be told. If she'd had to make the call, he would back her up on it. Only time would tell, he supposed. He knew, though, that the accident had clarified many things, even as it had made many others too complicated to think about.

_She's an earthquake a_ _nd you're the fault line_

_So, when you feel the ground start movin' around_

_Hold on tight, you're in for a ride_

_She's so California,_ Gary Allan

Sam looked down at her shirt, waking as the song changed. The song was one of Jake's favorites, but the shirt was new, and unusual. It was nothing like anything she'd ever bought, and felt very...California, for lack of a better word. The shirt was made of a silk blend, the sort that had a few buttons above a raised waist that created a vee-neck. Sue insisted the style created a long, lean torso. Sam brushed her fingers over the self-tie belt. Gosh, she thought, Jen is going to have a field day with this outfit. For years, they'd disparaged clothes like this, and now she was dressed like she loved the very items they had mocked as impractical. None of her own, comfortable clothes fit correctly.

Her jeans were cut very narrowly. Sue said the style was fashionable, even if Sam did think the narrow cut made her feet look huge in comparison. Sam had thought they looked okay, but now, she thought maybe they looked sort of strangely shaped. She looked down at the flats on the floorboard, ones she'd kicked off ages to prevent the low thrum of discomfort that she always from becoming pain.

"You cold?" Jake asked, seeing that she'd awoken, an expression of complete ease on his face.

"What?" Sam said, only to realize that she'd wrapped her arms around her waist. "Oh, er, yeah."

She fiddled around with her sweater, and pulled it over her arms, smoothing the light fabric over the scars that the needles had left in her arms, carefully covering the scars from her port-a-cath.

Understanding the reasons behind the smallest of actions, Jake sighed, "You look fine, Sam."

"I know." Sam did up a few buttons, fumbling with the small rounds and tiny holes, of the sweater, "You're sure Jen will be there?"

"You don't want her to be?" Jake asked, flicking a look at a sleeping Regina in the back seat. She had woken up a time or two, but as soon as she put her headphones on, she nodded off. It would have been funny if they both didn't know why she was there. If she had been Jen or Darrell snoring away in the back, there would have been jokes and teasing. Regina's presence, for as kind as she was, was hard to navigate.

"Of course I do!" Sam leaned forward hotly, "I'm just... I can't be the friend she needs, but I love her. But I'm not..." Jen deserved a good friend, one who could keep up with her, be what she needed. She loved Jen so much, and she knew Jen had gotten such a crap deal in this situation. At least she and Jake were together.

"Sam." Jake paused, hesitating, "Maybe..."

"Maybe what?" She ran a hand through her shorn hair, cutting him off when he floundered.

He started, anew, "I just..." Finally, he looked at her, and she understood the question that he couldn't put into words.

"Alright, look." Sam shifted her weight, "Our entire friendship was built around the horses, and now...that that idiot Francis won't clear me to do anything, what if..." Sam trailed off, flipping the station. She'd almost told him too much about the restrictions the doctor insisted upon.

Jake picked up on that slip, but obviously chose to stay on track, "Sam, you know that's not true. Jen is your friend." She thought it was funny, that Jake never called Jen her best friend, and wondered again why he didn't much like Jen. He thought she was bossy, Sam guessed. 

"I know." Sam admitted, because she did know. She knew Jen loved her as much as she was loved in return. She knew Jen would stand by her, as she always had. "It's irrational."

"And even if you can't ride right now, you can..." Jake tensed, a hopeful expression lighting his brown eyes, making the shade appear more colorful than normal. Sam swore, that even sitting side by side, she saw them glitter, and that made her scared. What if she couldn't keep up with him, once they were home either? Then, then, she wouldn't have him or Jen, and she needed them, but not, Sam thought, not at their expense. She couldn't bear if their friendships suffered, or if...

Sam cut him off, admitting the darkest of truths, "If I can't have it all, I don't want any of it, Jake. I'm not a masochist."

"What?" Jake nearly swerved, getting over, passing a pickup with Alberta plates.

Sam evaded, falling back on their history, hoping to make it easier on herself. "I'm a brat, remember?"

"Sam." Jake wouldn't have any of it, "Talk to me."

She turned the tables on him, hoping that she didn't have to admit this one thing, this one thing that would make him see her for the immature girl she really felt like. She hated, hated, hated when he thought she was a little girl. "You going to tell me, then, why you're hedging about that flip?"

"Sam, please." Jake pleaded, and in his voice, she heard the surety that whatever she said, would be okay. She could admit this, because he needed her to do it.

"I just...don't know if I could deal with being so close to having what I want, what I need, and not have it, you know? Like, if I can't have my life, all of it, everything, the way it used to be, normal, I'm not sure I want to even..." She sighed, "I don't know. Because if that's how I feel, why are we even doing this?" Sam's voice cracked "I'm not strong enough, Jake."

"Why do you feel this way?" Jake own voice wobbled, as though he were surprised by the admission. Sam couldn't deal with his clearly evident shock. She knew he knew how weak she was. He had held her hair back, when she'd cried until she threw up, when she'd trembled in his arms, and railed at the injustice of it all. Why was the fact that she could admit it a shock? Or was he shocked that she was so immature?

"What?" She said, startled, pain ripping through her. She could not handle the rejection she saw in his eyes. Was he rejecting her words...or her?

He clarified, slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't bear to not be able to do what I do. To not be me. What...if I let them down, again? What if Dad says..." Sam rambled, relief flooding her. He must be doubting her words, and not her.

"Analysis Paralysis." Jake declared, knowingly.

"Hm?" Sam shifted slightly, having never heard the term.

Jake explained. "You're over analyzing, Sam, to the point that you don't want to do anything, because you assigning too high values of importance to things that aren't important."

"Are you going to tell me that riding my own horses aren't important?" Sam shot back, horrified. How could this man, this man who was born to be in the saddle, downplay his horses? Witch...was his world. Witch was loved, totally and completely, without blinders to her faults. Witch was understood by Jake, and she only hoped that she and Ace or she and Kitty had half the relationship Jake had with Witch.

"No. It is." Jake replied, and Sam was glad to know he hadn't had a lobotomy, "You'll get there. But Sam, what were you doing with Jen, while you rode?" Sam understood his words, even if she didn't share in his quietly expressed confidence.

"Oh." They had been sharing their time, talking in places they loved with people they loved. "I guess. But Jake, it's not so simple."

"It is, Sam. Define what is important, and go from there." He advised, trailing off, "Just...make it happen, somehow." Jake paused, "We'll make this work."

They sat in silence, for a time, as music swirled around them. Sam came to the conclusion that Jake was probably correct. It didn't mean that she had to like it, or that the coming days would be easy on her, on them, but he was right. They could do this.

She could do this, for herself. She could define what was important, what mattered, and go from there. Surely it was not impossible to be her, somehow. She could still do some of her chores, no matter what that idiot doctor said. No riding. No lifting. No nothing. Extra rest. Keeping medication schedules. Blah Blah Blah. He'd almost refused to sign off on her going, but when she had told him that she was going no matter what he said, he'd lectured her heavily, and sent her on her way, his brows drawn together, as though he wasn't used to being defied or having his authority flouted.

Sam had told Jake the facts of what the man had said, but not the severity or the intensity with which he had said it. Sometimes, she thought, the fact that Dr. Francis insisted on seeing her on her own was a blessing in disguise. It meant that she could interpret his directives in her own way, without worrying about Jake's overprotective nature kicking in.

Still, doubts that had been shoved away early in the trip flared up. The logistics she didn't have figured out haunted her. It was the tiny things that made her question how she could do this. Stairs. Keeping up with her family. Proving to Daddy she could work when the doctor said to be careful. Pain that had building the back of her mind soon burst into the forefront of her conciseness. To keep from leaning forward, shifting around, something she knew was a sure tell, Sam spoke the first thing that came into her mind. "Are you going to tell me about that flip, Jake?"

"Later, Sam." Jake said, "You getting hungry? We could wake Regina, get off here, and get something?"

Gosh, yes. She could eat, then, and maybe they could get some IcyHot out of her bag. The heat hurt something fierce, but it helped, after a time, once she bore the discomfort of the heat long enough to let it. Sam gave one condition, "You have to let me pay."

"Why?" Jake said, seemingly baffled.

Sam could not deal with explanations. Pain made her short tempered. They'd had this argument a hundred times, and even though Jake wouldn't say, she knew money had something to do with his problems with Daddy. "Because!"

"Sam..." Jake said, as realization dawned, and compassion bloomed in his eyes. He knew she was in pain. He'd probably known since she started shifting around, as they'd talked about Jen. Jake set to getting off the interstate. Sam counted the seconds until he got where she knew he was going, as his other hand took hers for a fleeting second. Sam tried her hardest to focus on his touch.

Sam let their discussion go, having bigger fish to fry. "We're going to have to talk it out, sooner or later, you know that, right?"

"Okay." Jake said, finally on a regional road they knew, "But not today."

"You're avoiding a lot, you know." She waited in vain for him to reply, and muttered, "Including this conversation."

_Put a dollar's worth of gas in his pickup truck_

_We're goin' ninety miles an hour down a dead end road_

_What's the hurry, son, where you gonna go?_

_Small Town Saturday Night,_ Hal Ketchum

Roper Cafe was a small, hole in the wall, place that he and Sam often stopped by on their way places. They were hours from home, but close enough that the town was not entirely a mystery to them. Jake came through here more often than Sam did, and they always stopped at Roper's. It was in just another little town that dotted the West, a nondescript place with people just watching the interstate pass them by, wondering if their corner of the world was really a part of something bigger.

"Sam?" Jake hooked a left, passing a tiny bookstore, and a Nazarene church, "Why don't you wake Regina?" He continued driving, pulling into the parking lot.

"I'm awake. I heard talk of food some miles back." Regina yawned, and put away her Mp3 player. "I could use me a good cup of coffee."

"So could I." Jake agreed. He flicked a glance over at Sam, who was clearly in pain. Her brows were drawn tight., and her green eyes were tinged in a way that made him feel like his soul was being stomped on. Regina got out of the Scout, probably to stretch her legs in an an new place.

Sam spoke, "I can't do this."

"I'll help you down." Jake offered, wishing her voice didn't sound so broken.

"No." Sam shook her head, rambling, "I can't go in there. See those people. I can't. I can't."

"You can't?" Jake turned quickly to look at her. Roper and Ruby, the couple that ran the place, were kind, good people. Jake understood, though, what she meant when he remembered that she knew that fact well. The inability wasn't physical. This was the first encounter Sam was having with someone who'd known her weeks ago, someone who didn't know what had happened since then. Jake wondered how he could help her. He hadn't thought about what this would be like, feel like, for a woman as proud as Sam.

"I..." Steel glinted in Sam's tone, in the tilt of her chin, "I have to do this. Practice round for Darton, right?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Sam, but..." Jake ran his fingers through his hair, agreeing with her reasoning, as much as it felt wrong to do so.

"I'm fine." Sam squared her shoulders, and inhaled, "Let's go."

"You sure?" Jake placed his hat back on his head.

"I said yes." Sam leaned forward, and pushed the door open, "Stop asking me."

Jake didn't want to stop asking her. He didn't want to have to hold in the questions that mattered. Sometimes, though, no questions were needed. He watched in silence, gathering answers that cut like a knife, as Sam tried to ease the pain in her aching body, holding on to the truck door to stretch. He watched as she sank into the chair, wincing as she resumed the position of sitting. He watched as she tossed a stick of IcyHot in Regina's bag, and as she insisted on pushing herself up the tiny ramp made of concrete.

The front left wheel caught on a lip of the pavement, from where the ramp and the sidewalk it led up to connected. Sam held it together, and tried again. Jake's fingers dug into his palms, only holding himself in check so as to honor Sam's wishes, no matter what he thought of them. Regina held the door, and gave them both sympathetic glances.

_Just off of the beaten path_

_A little dot on the state road map_

_That's where I was born and where I'll die_

_Down Home_ , Alabama

Sam fell asleep, as soon as they were on the road again. Jake knew she'd deliberately knocked herself out with a low dose of pain medication. She wanted to be as well as possible when they got home. The dinner had gone fine, but Ruby had floundered until Sam had put her at ease. It wasn't the first time Ruby had seen an injured cowgirl, and it wouldn't be the last. Jake wished, however, that knowing the dangers that were inherent to their lifestyle made it easier to deal with, now that it had happened to them. Sam was Sam, and somehow, that erased any semblance of rationality he possessed, even if he could not acknowledge it.

Jake watched her sleep out of the corner of his eye, wishing it was because she felt at ease, and not because her body was worn down and trying to escape pain. He felt a bit better, though, when he heard her mutter his name in her sleep. At that, a shot of something primal raced through his blood. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, the one wrapped around her seatbelt, and watched as it relaxed and moved to her side.

As they edged closer to home, Regina asked questions about their surroundings. She seemed enthralled by the cattle they passed, and asked about fencing lines more than once. She saw the sky widen, and gaped. He explained in some detail what ranching was, and the basic processes involved with keeping a place like Three Ponies going. Regina spent a bit of time talking over the differences between farming and ranching. She seemed amazed that they didn't grow cotton or peanuts. Jake smiled. Her Georgian roots were showing, as were her urban leanings.

As the sky opened above him, Jake felt a shift in him that had begun a Roper's. He felt a tension in the back of his neck melt away, a uneasiness drift away as they moved closer to home. For all the issues facing them, they were home, his hat was on his head, and Sam was by his side. Home was looking pretty good, Jake, thought, as he sped up. Soon the roads became ones he knew like the back of his hand, and Regina's interest was no longer half hidden.

He pointed out the roadside stands, points where one man's land became another woman's. Jake told her everything he could think of, joy thrumming within him, growing as Sam's sleep grew more natural. He realized that he was being given a gift. Finally, he was seeing home through the eyes of a stranger, the eyes of someone who didn't see all of the issues and problems, didn't see this place as more of the same old, same old. He was proud to acknowledge these places as their stomping grounds, far superior to San Francisco.

The road became a two lane road, and then, gravel, and finally, the path back towards the house became a dirt driveway. In front of them stood a house that for the first time in weeks, was the most welcome sight. in the world. Regina was silent, for the first time in awhile.

Without realizing what he was doing, Jake took the moment to pray. He thanked God for this moment, and begged Him for the strength to see this weekend through. He thanked God for the woman stirring next to him, and prayed that God would give them the solace only being home together could provide. He was a sinner in the hands of an angry God, and for the first time in forever, Jake was too happy to care. 

_Well, I just smile because they don't understand_   
_But if they ever saw a sunrise on a mountain mornin'_   
_Watched those cotton candy clouds roll by_   
_They'd know why I live beneath these Western Skies_   
_I got peace of mind and elbow room I love the smell of sage in bloom_   
_Catch a rainbow on my fishin' line_

_Western Skies,_ Chris LeDoux

 


	11. We Didn't Start the Fire

_And I don't want the world to see me_ _'cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_ _I just want you to know who I am_

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming o_ _r the moment of truth in your lies_

_When everything feels like the movies, y_ _eah, you bleed just to know you're alive_

_Iris_ , The Goo Goo Dolls

Jake, after placing bags on the porch, turned to wake Sam. He placed a palm on her shoulder, letting his fingers fall softly after that. Sam stirred, far too easily for someone who was supposed to be lit up on pain medication. "'urtles." Sam muttered, leaning into his touch slightly. He wished she could get real rest, but it was elusive. The sun was not very bright, as the day had begun to end, though it would be hours yet until dark fell in earnest. Jake knew she would not sleep, go to bed, until everyone else did, as a matter of pride.

"What?" He replied, startled, removing his hand. Had he hurt her? He looked down at her shoulder in fear, at his hand in self loathing. But it sounded like she had said 'turtles.' What did that mean?

"Sam?" Jake's heart stopped for a second, praying equally that she would wake up, and hoping that she wouldn't, that she would say more, even though this was a drug induced rambling, and little more. Still, a glimpse into her subconscious was a rare gift.

"I like turtles." She snuffled, leaning into him, with a jolt, "Ja-" She paused, looking around, "Oh. We're here."

"Yeah." Jake shifted, opening the door wider, and stepping closer to her side. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Jake. I'm exhausted, but fine." Sam felt the sting of the falsehood. She wasn't sad that she had lied, but she was sad that it fell so easily from her mouth.

Her life was a lie, so it didn't matter any that she knew she was going to lie and deny until she was blue in the face. "Fake it..." Sam thought, "Fake it, fake it, till you make it." Fake it until you make it. Fake life until you can live.

"Sam..." Jake said, reading her in that way only he could, "It'll be okay."

Maybe Jake was lying about things until he believed them, too. His falsehood met its mark. She felt less alone. That was something. She slipped out of the truck, pain flooding her body. She couldn't separate her physical pain from her emotional pain, and that made both all the worse. Sam tilted her chin, prayed, and took a step forward. She could no longer hide. Things had to get back to normal, somehow, some way. She wished, though, that she didn't feel like she was staring at a minefield. "I'm fine."

Sam tried to ignore Jake's penetrating gaze. He didn't believe her. How could he, though, when he saw everything. He saw the pain in her eyes, felt the tremble she could not suppress as her feet met the ground, from the whoosh of shifting gravity. She wished he would buy her lines, at least once in a while. That's what people were supposed to do. She said she was okay. They agreed, because they wanted to, ignoring evidence to the contrary. It was a social contract.

"Sam?" Jake prompted. She pulled back slightly, inhaling. The loss of contact made her feel cold, in the late afternoon of summer. She could feel his touch, as real as ever, even after he'd let go, but still, it was jarring.

"I c-can't..." She stopped, corrected herself, censored herself, and spoke calmly. "I can do this." Gram hadn't raised a coward.

"Do what?" Jake tiled his head, "We're home." That was her entire point. They were home. This mattered, more than anything else.

After a second of unspeaking glances, he nodded. Jake guessed she was apprehensive about going inside. He knew that she in pain. Sam continued, "Here goes nothing."

Jake watched as she planted her feet, squared her chin, and stepped forward. The ground was uneven, though, and she faltered slightly. Her footing was easily regained, though, and she continued on.

She began to take them one foot at a time, left on the stair, right on the same one, and up. Her "don't touch me" gaze hurt a bit. They were a team, but she didn't need his help now, and he had nothing but respect for her abilities. He understood that getting inside under her own power was important to her. Jake stood down, even though he wanted to scoop her up and bound up the stairs to save her the trouble. Regina stood next to Sam and offered her a hand at the last step, which ran out of railing.

Where was Gal? Sam knew that by now, she should have bounded up to them, nearly knocked them over. Sam entered the house, surprised that no one had come out in the interim. Regina was right behind her, Jake had held the door. She wanted him here. It was only the family. Sam's mind revolted, then. She couldn't even feed herself that line. Their reactions were her litmus test. She looked down the hallway, wanting nothing more than for this to have all been a dream, to wake up on the couch in the den, and scream at Quinn to turn down the AC/DC before she drop kicked him into the next decade. That wasn't life anymore.

Voices floated out from the kitchen. She was three steps away from being heard, she knew, and she felt paralyzed. She was a stranger to people she'd known forever. They didn't know her. She knew them, but they didn't know her. There was no way to explain any of this. How was she to encapsulate all of the changes in her life?

How was she to tell them, explain to them, that sometimes, she had no idea where she was in space? How was she to tell them that sometimes, it was the exact opposite, and her skin felt so tight, like she was a loaded spring at the point of snapping, like her body was crushing her?

How was she to tell them all that if the light changed suddenly, or there was a loud noise, that she reached up to cover her ears? How was she to explain that she couldn't bear being touched, only because she felt so much, so much that even it felt like this massive overload, that was sometimes awesome, and sometimes agonizing?

How was she to tell them all that sometimes, all of that wasn't enough, and she would spin around until she felt normal, just to feel something, anything?

How was she to explain all of these things, things that shaped her realities?

She couldn't. She couldn't because they couldn't see that damage. They could see the changes that rocked her to her core. She didn't need to be validated. She knew what she was going through, most of the time. She didn't need to be coddled, but she knew it was critically important that the people she loved understood her situation and thereby, understood her.

Her hand fluttered to her short hair, and Sam winced as she felt the bruises on her arm react. She had to keep her sweater on. They couldn't see the real damage, she thought, so they wouldn't see any of it, not even the surface stuff. They'd see the reserved, rational girl she'd worked hard to become at rehab. She'd had to cut off parts of her heart, until it felt like they had gangrene, but she'd done it once, and she could do it again.

 _Three_. Her mind cried out, begging her to see reason. I can't do this. I won't do this. There's still time to go, to leave, to turn tail, to not see the looks on their faces...

 _Two_. What am I doing? This is insane. I'm not ready.

 _One_. And...

Sam fought the urge to cover her ears as a dish clattered into the sink, and Max shut off the water, calling,"Sammy!" Noise swelled in greeting, after that. She heard, somehow, Quinn saying something, and countless others, as well, over the din of people setting out a late dinner. It was so loud, so very, very, loud. It was so loud that she felt the noise in her bones.

Sam stilled, as she fought the urge to flinch. She felt Max's arms around her, and nearly sobbed. Max had been her de-facto mother since Mom had died, the one to cuddle her, the one to answer questions she couldn't bring herself to ask Gram, the only one to even come close to filling an aching void. She was doing it again. So many people refused to touch her, even casually, and Max did it without hesitation. Her touch felt like blankets, and the comfiest of sweaters. She had needed this, needed a mother's comfort. "Max..."

Sam didn't know what Max heard in her voice, but she pulled away, and Sam knew that she was fighting tears. "Everybody's home."

"Ev-everybody?" Sam asked, locking her knees. She looked up, looked around, then. Everybody was there. Everybody. Well, not everybody. Grandfather. Seth. Adam. Quinn. Luke. No. Everyone was not here. They were not all here. Gram. Dad. The dog. The Ely house cat. "Where's Gal? A-and...Gato?"

Everyone stopped talking, then. Sam hated her mouth. She'd stammered, after rehearsing what she'd say in her mind while they ate at Roper's a thousand times, the first thing that had come out had been a stammer-y mess, about the pets, no less. She had, once again, lost her filter.

There they all were, looking at her, like she was some sort of specimen, some sort of something, and she asked about the dog. She knew she should have said something else, the things she'd planned to say, when she saw the looks on their faces, which she could not read. She couldn't even manage social convention for once in her life? Why did she always say the wrong thing?

Where was Jake? This was awkward, and unbearable. They were staring, as she stood in the doorway. What was with this big meal? She just wanted to sit. Her whole body felt like Jell-o. Sam heard the front door close with finality. Jake appeared, easily, ducking around her in the doorway. Sam's heart rate slowed and the desperation in her soul faded. He was there, then, and he... Jake was speaking. "What's..."

He was cut off as Grandfather pulled the the back door open, and the dog bounded up the stairs, and into the room. Gal surged happily up to her. She broke every dog rule in the book, and hopped up, getting ready to throw her weight onto Sam. Jake stepped forward, and closer to Sam,. Gal, knowing she couldn't pull tricks with Jake, plopped down into a solid sit, her tail thumping madly on the wooden floors.

Sam felt a sense of happiness so profound. She had missed them all, but Gal...Gal was her buddy. Gal was an old lady, now, aged, though still a hard worker. She was something like Nanny Dog in Peter Pan. Sam's hand fell onto her soft hair, and she rubbed her ears, "Hey..."

That broke the silence. Max grinned, and said, "Well! Now that the important people are inside again, what's say we eat? Grace should be here, soon, I should think, and Wyatt..." Max spoke, setting another bowl on the table.

Sam did not want to eat. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to curl up on the couch, and throw a blanket that smelled like Max's laundry soap, over her, until she slept and slept. Still, she smiled.

She had already stuck her foot in her mouth once, and Sam knew she could not do so again. They had hammered the simplest of things into her at rehab. She could hear them now, in those voices, "What do we do when someone cooks for us?" Sam had longed to say, "We put the bowls on our heads, and scream like banshees." She hadn't though. She knew. When someone cooked for you, you ate, even if you didn't want it. If you don't do the work, Dad's voice rang in her head, you don't make the choices.

The dinner before them was clearly something Max had worked on, and she had no choice. "Sure. Just..." Sam floundered. She thought back to a conversation she'd had with Matrona. Funny hides the fear, Matrona had said, and they'd come up with a mantra. Flippant. Funny. Fearless. Flippant. Funny. Fearless. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Jake, rubbed the back of his neck, "Well, Sam was hoping..."

The girl in question cut him off, "to see everyone." She paused, "Just..." Make your needs known, Sam thought. Do it. Her eyes fell on Regina, and she felt terribly. She hadn't introduced the kindly woman to her family. "Everyone, this is Regina. I'm...going to my lair, for...for a minute."

Seth, ever astute, finally spoke, "No rush."

_Oh, won't you stay, j_ _ust a little bit longer_

_Please let me hear y_ _ou say that you will_

_Say you will_

_Stay,_ Maurice Williams & the Zodiacs

Sam yawned when Jake set her down on the guest bed she'd claimed as her own years ago. Jake felt the tension in her body as she flopped back on the bed, and said, "Don't let me sleep."

Her eyes shut almost instantly. Jake had every intention of letting her sleep. What were they thinking, planning this? Jake was nearly enraged. Were they all that stupid, not to know that she needed quiet, and to rest? The kitchen had been tense. Sam's pallor was clear, and she was beyond exhausted. "You need to rest."

Her lair was so Samish that it hurt Jake to see the room with the lights on. Her quilt was still on the couch downstairs, and her little messes, the sweater over the hook, the open container of sunscreen in their bathroom, were still there. But Mom had cleaned Sam's room, changed the sheets he hadn't let her touch, changed the blankets to match the season. Sam's last bit of laundry was clearly put away, and the books and junk that had been littering her desk in her lair had been tidied in his absence. 

Sam shook her head, even as she was lying down, eyes shut. "They didn't know what to do. How many times have you gone away, only to come home to dinner on the table? I should have...warned them. "

Jake disagreed, but understood her point. The family was only doing what they always did. They had missed her, too, and they all wanted to see her, but was it really the best idea to bolt in here the second she got home? He had half a mind to just ignore them, and beg her to stay, and go to sleep.

Sam pushed onto her side, and laid her head on her outstretched arm. Jake turned from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and looked at her. She cracked an eyelid, no doubt feeling the weight of his slow perusal, and outlined their plan of action, "We go down, we eat, we smile, lie through the sin of omission, and I sleep forever. Okay?"

He ran a hand through his hair, knowing she wouldn't like he suggestion even as he made it. "I could tell Mom you're tired. It doesn't have to be a big deal..." He could just go, and tell her that they'd eat later. Sam had just ridden in the car for countless moments, and her body should not be forced to keep sitting so long, not when she was so clearly enjoying being stretched out.

"Don't you dare. Let's go before Regina feels awkward." Jake waited. He wasn't about to take the initiative to move. Maybe her dictate had been just words. His hopes were dashed when dam glared, pulled herself into a sitting position after another long moment and reached down into the bag she'd carried with her. Jake stilled as her fingers found the pain medication she hated.

He could read her thoughts, almost. He could hear her telling herself that there was nothing else to do, that she had to cowgirl up, overpower her screaming muscles and aching body. He tramped down the urge to say something. Hopefully, it would help with the pain she was going through. Dr. Francis had said not to let pain get ahead of her, and though she did her best, it was going to be a game of catch up tonight.

"Who cares?" Jake reacted, grabbing the bag, as she pulled out the stronger version of the pain management pill she had, "Sam! You shouldn't take..."

"It's been long enough." Sam replied, tiredly. It had been long enough, but he was wary as she swallowed another pill. He knew she wasn't only taking the pills for herself. She was doing it for everyone gathered downstairs, and that fact cut like a knife.

_What would you think if sang out of tune,_

_Would you stand up and walk out on me?_

_Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song_

_And I'll try not to sing out of key._

_A Little Help From My Friends_ , Joe Cocker

Regina had been in a lot of homes during her private duty work. She'd started doing it back in 1985, after Rollie had gotten a little sister. The hours had been good, and the pay better. She'd worked for Mrs. Rosen, who had run a shipshape home, full of knickknacks and silk covered furniture. The rooms had been wide, and cold, resounding with silence. Even now, she carried a sweater with her, after the chill there seeped into her DNA.

The Ely house was the antithesis of the Rosen manse, if there ever was one. The rooms she'd seen, shown around by the Misters Ely, Luke and Mac, that was, were joyful and cozy, full of artwork and warmth. She was currently in a living room that was clearly more for show than anything, as it seemed people congregated in the kitchen.

There was a quilt thrown over a embroidery hoop, sitting on the middle of the couch. A young man came in and sat down on the couch, and was careful not to disturb it. He looked at his father, and then at her, and asked, "Do you think Jake would be okay, now, if we put this away?"

Another young man who'd followed him in replied, "Quinn, I'd leave it." His gaze fell on her as she took in a framed painting of the skyline. "I'm Adam."

"Regina." She tore her gaze from the riot of colors and textures. It really was a lovely piece. In it, she could understand why people loved this place, desolate as it was. There seemed to be such variance and depth to the plants and rocks. "Forgive me, son." She said, when she caught him looking at her expectantly. "I just..."

The one with the styled hair, Quinn, spoke, "Nah. It's a good painting. Can I ask you something?"

She smiled, and resisted the urge to pet the cat that lumbered across the room, "G'ahead. Sure."

"What is it..." He shook his head, and looked at his elder brother. Ah. She saw some of the same communication that Sam and Jake had used in front of her being applied. "We want to know what you do."

Oh. Regina understood this. Many families had such questions. She tried to set the boys at ease. "Not too much. This is the easiest job I've ever had in all my days as an RN."

"Really? Sam's that healed?" He sounded so excited that Regina hated to burst his bubble.

She knew she had misspoken, and tried to clarify, "More like your brother does a lot for me."

Quinn nodded, "Ah. Yeah, they're freaks. Don't judge."

Seth glared at Quinn, and Adam looked uneasy. Regina could not understand their nonverbal communication, minute as it was. It was clearly the province of the Ely siblings, and she could not begin to define the subtext that was clearly swirling around her.

"Freaky as your brother may be, we are glad to have him home." The eldest man in the room rebuked his grandchild gently. Regina had to turn her head to see the older men in the room. "I would hesitate..."

"To be my charming self?" Quinn shook his head, "I know." The knowing in the young man's voice was palpable. 

Luke smiled sadly at his son, and Regina felt a pang for the pain that they too, must have suffered. She wondered idly just how enmeshed these two families were, though she knew the why quite easily. "Thank you for seeing them home. After seven kids, I can never adjust when the house is quiet." Luke smiled, and she returned the gesture, having gone through that several times in her life. When Hattie had left home, she'd cried for weeks. "We're grateful for your help this weekend."

Regina shook her head, "It's no trouble." She knew how the man felt, at least in this tiny thing, "You must really miss Jake."

Luke shot her a curious look, "And Sam..."

She did not want to pry into their relational dynamics. It sounded to Regina as though, on some level, that this man considered Sam to be his own. Had she really and truly misread their relationship that badly? She hoped to heck and back that she hadn't, because Sam was, if she could admit it or not, loved Jake. There was no question that they were desperately longing for each other. Regina saw it. There would be a whole mess of trouble, one day, if they were supposed to be like siblings, a whole great big mess, with an epic blow out.

She glommed onto the only topic she could think of. "That's a lovely painting. Do you know who painted it?" Regina was curious. She had studied Art History in college, and knew something of regionalist painters. It didn't look like a print, but perhaps, it was a very good copy of a very, very good painting.

Again, the same look came over Luke Ely's face. "You know her, too, Regina. Sam's quite the artist."

"Lord, that little girl painted that?" Regina took a good look at the painting of the skyline, of the brush, or whatever it was, and was humbled. What Sam must be feeling, trapped in a body that was capable of that creation, that expression. There was nothing else to say.

"For Dad's birthday a year ago. It's not her best." Quinn spoke, breaking the heavy mood, "Careful, Sam gets  plucky if anyone calls her little." After a second, he remembered why he had come in the room, "Everyone's waiting to eat, Dad."

They left the living room to see that another two people had arrived, and Sam and Jake had come downstairs. Sam was sitting on the edge of the of the benches, to the side, meaning that one of her hands was steadying her wobbly torso. Regina slid, none too easily, in the bench next to Sam. Sam glanced at her, clearly surprised to find her there. She looked to her new ally in the seat across from her, who was grinning uproariously.

Quinn mouthed, "Jake's seat..." Regina nodded, and slid down to the next seat.

Regina didn't have to look far to find the boy in question. She simply followed Sam's eye line, and her gaze fell on Jake, speaking to a young man in a dress shirt and pants at the door. He was accompanied by a blonde with a sharp chin length bob. Sam started, nearly knocking over her glass, when she saw the girl. "Oh. My. God. You look different! Have you shrunk?"

The tall blonde looked up, instantly, and brushed past Jake quickly, moving around Sam's grandmother, to whom Sam had been speaking. She pulled the chair on the end of the table out, and sat, meeting Sam at eye level. "What? Can't a girl cut her hair? Does it look like a blonde football helmet?"

"What?" Sam cried, "No. It's great. I just...you..." She paused, "Thanks, Jen."

"Hey Regina." Jen said, and Regina nodded. Jen spoke, to her friend, then, "How are the Kalteen bars?"

Regina got the reference to a movie, knowing that Jen was really asking Sam how her weight was doing, after joking about it on the phone. Jen and Sam spoke quite frequently on the phone and it was nice to see that her mental image of the girl had been right where it counted, in the wide smile, and caring demeanor.

"Well, the Kalteen bars burnt up all the carbs, and so my body was just running on water. But since the water's gone, then, you're all muscle. Look, see?" Sam looked down at her slim frame, "Proof."

"What's going on?" Quinn asked, as everyone filled in to sit down to eat. The adults were lost in their own conversation, though Grace did place her own water glass in the seat next to Regina's. with a smile that promised later conversation.

Jen grinned, and said, "Geez, Sam, he doesn't even go here."

"He keeps trying to make fetch happen." Sam nodded tartly, glaring at her brother for breaking into a conversation. "I've missed you."

"I miss you, too." Jen said, in an undertone, looking as though she would have hugged Sam were it not for all of the people in the room. Hm, Regina thought. 

It occurred to her that maybe Sam and Jake hadn't always been so tactile. Now, they always seemed to be within touching reach of the other one. There were countless reassuring touches throughout the day, countless other moments that Regina felt badly for intruding upon. Their family was, however, not quite so demonstrative. Regina surmised that their traumas had changed them, as had being left to their own devices. 

"Can you guys stop speaking movie?" The young man in the suit pleaded. "I'm dying..." He tripped over the word, " _hoping_ to eat."

"Must we?" Jen asked Sam. Sam looked up from where she was leaning into Jake, on the other side of her.

He seemed content to fill his own plate. He wasn't taking very much, though, and Regina realized that they filled their plates before prayer. Sam and Jake prayed before each meal, sometimes silently, sometimes out loud. Regina knew that they shared their private discussions for the early morning. She'd almost walked in on them talking about the price of paint and Plato.

Sam sighed, "We must. Or else Darrell will drop dead of starvation. Did you hear me? I said he'd drop..."

Jake cut her off with a pleading look that Regina almost missed. Sam nodded sympathetically, glancing at her paling friend, and Jake's tense body beside her. Under the table, Regina saw Sam grab Jake's hand, wrap her fingers within his, twining them together. 

"Ah, well. It's not my fault they're completely cinematically illiterate." Jen said.

"I am not!" Darrell said, "You were running through a Mean Girls and Steel Magnolias mashup you made up in study hall."

Jen flipped her new hair and replied, "Don't try to get on my good side, Darrell. I no longer have one!" She denied her own statement with a wide smile. 

Quinn cut in, "You should just quote good films like  _Rambo._ "

"Says the guy whose favorite film is _Hello, Dolly_!" Adam said.

Quinn opened mouth to retort something, but the older brother down a ways on the bench cut him off. 

Seth snorted cutting his brother off, "And the fact that you are unwilling to see either film has no correlation to your single state?" Regina sort of wondered what Quinn had meant to say.

She knew what the effort to be social was costing Sam, and was curious to see how much of it was natural. She could see her trying to mask pain with humor, even as she was glad to see her friends.

"Hey!" The younger man cried. Regina felt Sam jump, slightly, at the noise, though she hid it well. "Lizzie called me last week."

"Fool, she called you for a ride to church." Adam replied, passing the rolls. "She's not interested."

"How do you know?" Quinn said, "And anyway, I do not care. We're _friends_. And just everybody knows that.." Regina tried not to laugh. She tried. She failed to hide a snort, one that she swallowed quickly with her water glass. Grace did not look to pleased at the pointed teasing of Sam and Jake. 

Max cut in, "Seth, the prayer, please."

That was the end of the buoyant chatter, as prayers were said, and, in companionable silence, the large family put away a great deal of food. 

Regina knew what the siblings had done. They had kept the conversation light, easily observing that Sam was not up to anything heavy, though Regina knew that would come later. She caught Jake shooting a look of thanks to his brother across from him. The Ely siblings, it dawned on Regina, were a tight knit group, and Sam was clearly the princess of them all. She didn't think Sam saw it, but every last one of them vied for her attention in their own way. It was clear to her that each young man had clearly missed her, as had all of the adults in the room.

Regina sat back to observe, to understand her client better, in the context of their real home. There was so much you could tell about a person from their private spaces. Grace was a nice dinner companion, but her gaze tightened as she saw Sam and Jake with their food. Sam was leaning slightly into Jake, and the girl's grandmother shot her father a look that any woman who'd raised a daughter could read. It didn't bode well.

Regina was surprised. The plate he'd been filling hadn't been for him, it had been for Sam, though why that shocked her, she didn't know. Grace clearly was displeased by their unity, the way they moved together, each compensating for the other. Regina nearly laughed when Sam frowned, and switched their drinks. Jake had probably spiked hers again, with pedialyte.

All too soon, dinner was over, but Regina had drawn her conclusions. Time would tell, though, if she was right. For Sam and Jake's sake, she hoped she was. Jake's brothers dragged him out to the barn, and Regina was again surprised that he went, though she knew he'd been backed into it. Jake hugged Sam, and said something only for her to hear, but that wasn't the shocking thing.

What shocked her was Grace's reaction to the simple reassurance found in his hug. The woman grew slightly red in the face, and shook her head slightly. It dawned on Regina that the family wasn't as touchy as Sam and Jake seemed to be. They were nice people, but were reserved in their affection and warmth in a way that their children were not. Regina tried to ignore the look in Sam's eyes as Jake walked away. It hurt to see it.

_Later on I'll cry my stupid eyes out_

_Later on I'm crying like a baby_

_And yeah baby don't get so disappointed_

_I am not what you anticipated_

_Later On_ , Kate Nash

Dinner passed awkwardly. Sam spoke mostly to Jen, whom she missed. Jen acted as though she felt uneasy around Sam now, and that hurt. Gram watched her warily, with hurt and pity in her eyes. Sam tried to think of words, but she couldn't. She was so tired. She just wanted to sleep, to rest, to find a cozy spot, and let the hours pass her by.

That was not to be, though. She felt bereft when Jake left, when he walked away, and would have insisted he stay if not for the fact that the family would never understand, if not for the fact that Jake deserved to go with his brothers. She relied on her poker face to hide the fear she felt. What if he didn't come back?

"Well. I'm thinking it's time to go, Sam." Wyatt said, after the boys had cleared out. Sam wanted to go with them, with Jake, even if it meant going to the barn, and facing all of that. She'd had to stay, though, and see Jen and Darrell off. She wasn't ready to face the horses, but she would have tried. She would have done it. She would have walked on glass to not feel this way. She hated the desperation, the worry, that raged within her now, at her father's words.

It was approximately seven big steps to the door, and then five across the porch, five steps down the stairs, and a short distance to the barn. They'd counted once, in 1996, with Seth acting as the official counter, even if she did forget how many steps it took to cross the yard. She had affirmed the count trying to get inside today. At least some things never changed. If she tried, she could...Gram spoke, "Have you got your things, Sam?"

"What?" Sam replied, "No!" What was she talking about? Sam had no idea, and she tried to put it together, as Dad placed his hat on his head. She was so tired. They really wanted her to pay attention?

"You haven't got your things?" Gram pressed, even as there was a look on her face that Sam couldn't read. Why was she in such a hurry to go? Why was she looking at Sam like that?

"No. I...no." Then she realized that this was what everyone had been expecting of her. In asserting her desire to stay here, she would be disappointing everyone. Even Jake had known that she would have to go, be expected to leave, be expected to go, to leave, to go. She felt a flash of rage, and pain, and betrayal.

That's why he'd gone with Seth, why he'd hugged her, briefly, when he'd gone. He didn't even have the guts to watch her walk away. She guessed it only worked in reverse. But maybe, she thought, it just didn't matter to him that she was going. Her eyes flashed, and burned, but she shook her head, "I have..." No, she didn't have to tell him goodbye, not when he knew, and still chose to walk away, "I'm good. Let's go."

"Okay." Her father moved towards the door, "What help do you need?"

"None." Sam said, "I don't need...I don't..."

Sam bid hasty goodbyes to everyone, and left quickly, uncaring that she tripped her way down the stairs. Only Regina seemed to understand what she was going through, and conveyed her understanding in a single glance as they said goodbye.

She wasn't afraid of falling anymore. She had hit bottom, she knew, so what did a literal fall matter anyhow? She hated herself for being so dependent, so completely reliant, upon someone who didn't want her, didn't need her, didn't even have the respect for her to be honest.

_You don't want somebody telling you t_ _he way to stay in someone's soul_

_You're a big boy now_

_You'll never let her go_

_But that's just the kind of thing s_ _he ought to know_

_Tell Her About It_ , Billy Joel

Back inside at River Bend, Dad excused himself to the barn. Gram took one look at her, and said, "Well. You'll want to change."

Sam looked down at her outfit. She thought it was okay, even if it was a bit trendy. She caught Gram looking at the jeans, though, and understood. Gram thought her clothes were immodest. Sam's felt shame, deep and dark, within herself. Her body, she realized, would always be deviant now. She was a woman, so that was a strike against her, in some ways, in a patriarchal system. But to know, now, that even her grandmother thought her body was wrong, hurt. 

Sam didn't feel like trying to make it up the steps, so she trudged to the laundry and found her jogging pant skirt atop a huge pile of fresh laundry in the room that Gram had clearly just cleaned. She loved it because it was a maxi skirt made out of a sweat pant material. She often painted in it because of the pockets. Well, she had. She wasn't an artist anymore. She didn't even feel like herself as she tugged the skirt down. It was too loose, too big. It felt like a garbage bag over her hips, baggy and clingy, highlighting what she had lost rather than what she had. 

Gram caught her coming out and nodded, her apron being tied in place, "I bet you're in a real hurry for things to get back to normal, Sammy."

Sam couldn't bring herself to nod. She was so tired, so tired. This was normal. This was normal, though. This was her life.

Visit Three Ponies.

Come home.

Visit next time in a few days, maybe Sunday, if she was lucky.

Rinse. Repeat.

Sam realized with a crushing sense of despair that maybe, she wasn't cut out for normal anymore. This didn't feel normal. She didn't feel like she always did. She wasn't normal. Everything hurt, even her fingers as she gave into the urge, the compulsion to check on Jake, just to make sure he was doing okay. She felt like she was floating away. She was walking towards the couch, when she heard her father say, "Sammy, want to come out to the barn?"

"No. Please. No." She said, tonelessly as her bottom hit the sofa with a thump. Cougar crawled into her lap. His weight hurt. She could feel every instance where his fur brushed against her, and his formerly comforting purr resounded loudly. Sam hated herself for letting Daddy down. Still, she had done her job, and asserted herself.

"Samantha Anne. Come on." Her father ordered, not unkindly. "You have an obligation to your horses."

Sam wanted to sob. He was telling her that? Out of all the things he could say? She wanted to scream and cry, and sob, and yell. She had done everything Ella had told her to do. She had said no. She hadn't wish-washed. She had said no. She had interacted, used her all fired words. She had smiled. Now, for the love of God, she just wanted to sleep. Why couldn't she sleep?

At the look on Dad's face, Sam knew there would be no rest, so she stood, locking her knees, wishing she hadn't left the wheelchair in the Scout. She doubted she could make it to the door. Her feet were killing her. Her back and hips were aching, screaming out for her to be sensible. Still, this was a test. Pushing away the fog, Sam pushed onward, slogging the pain, and walked to the door. Her father gripped her arm, and looked down at her. As they walked, he talked, but Sam didn't understand a word he said.

The barn loomed over her like Shawshank as she found herself there. Her palms began to sweat, and her knees began to knock under her skirt. Pepper was there, stark worry on his face. Dad was saying, "Kitty and Ace...Won't that be nice?"

"What?" Sam pleaded, "Dad. I can't..." She couldn't see them. In her mind, they were fine, just as they had been the last time she'd seen them before the accident. She wasn't ready for that picture to change. Kitty probably blamed her. Ace, she wasn't so sure about. He was fickle. But Kitty, well, she'd failed Kitty. She'd learned to ride with Kitty. Kitty knew she knew better than to act a fool like she had. She couldn't face them yet. She couldn't. Not now. She wasn't ready. Please, oh, please, she wasn't ready.

"Sure, now...'" Her father soothed, guiding her along. "They do miss you."

The were steps away from seeing the pasture when Sam pulled her arm away. She had to do something, anything. "I'm begging you. I can't! I told you I couldn't!" She tried to breathe, as her father looked as though she had hit him. Sam knew, in that moment that she had failed. She had failed. This was it. "I told you!"

Sam turned on her heel, wishing her sweater was warmer, and almost fell over, barely stopping herself from hitting the ground as her leg faltered and her foot twisted. She pitched forward, again, this time her brain screaming to prepare for impact. Sam's eyes slammed shut.

 Her father steadied her, pulled her up, onto her feet gently. She stepped back. His touch hurt. She felt betrayed. "Sam. I know you're scared. Seeing them is the only way to..."

"To what, Dad?" She screamed, "To _what_?" She couldn't get back on. She couldn't. And she didn't have the words to apologize for not being worthy of the two of them. She could not find the words to express her own sorrow, and she was not going to dredge it up in front of her father. 

"To move on, honey." Dad replied, as though she was overwrought. She wasn't. She felt everything, but she couldn't make sense of it, in that the overload left her feeling detached and cold. Her senses were screaming. Sam opened her mouth to speak, half-afraid what was going to come out, and half-out of her mind with pain. "You're not doing the work here, Daddy! You don't get to make those choices!"

_I don't wanna hurt nobody_   
_Don't wanna make nobody cry_   
_I don't wanna do wrong, I don't wanna do wrong_   
_I don't wanna tell no lies_

_Lovin' You Against My Will_ , Gary Allan

Adam and Seth had come home to help out because they couldn't manage without help. They downplayed it, but Jake felt that like a blow. He had been needed here, and he had let them down. Still, he knew he'd do it again in heartbeat, without question. He was awash with gratitude for his older brothers, because Jake knew they'd gotten Mom off of his back. He was in a hurry, though, to get back inside, and left them to it.

The house was silent. He was surprised that Jen had left so quickly, though he knew that Sam was exhausted, and hoped she'd gone up to bed. Still, he'd thought that Jen would want to stay.

Still, he needed to see Sam, needed to know where was, how she was, not assume. Jake bumped into Regina in his singleminded haste. "Sorry." He went to move past her, but thought to ask, "Where's Sam?"

Regina's sympathetic glance told him he needed to know. Jake was glad he left the keys in the Scout. He was halfway to the door when his father stuck his head out of the den's door.

"Jake?" Dad said, "We need to talk."

"Later." Jake replied, opening the door. "I have to go to River Bend."

"No, Jacob, now. We're having a discussion." His father insisted, "This can't be put off."

"I'll be right back." Jake begged off, set on his course.

His father followed him. The words he spoke were undercut with steel. "You owe this conversation to your mother. Get inside."

Jake knew what happened to people that disappointed his mother. She never let it go, and Dad took it as a personal affront. Jake nodded. This was a good time to tell them, anyway. They needed to know. It would take a few minutes, and hopefully, Sam was asleep already. Their separation probably wasn't eating her alive, not like it was doing to him, if she were asleep. Still, the assertion was predicated on uncertainty, to the point that he felt like a caged animal.

Jake walked past the basket in the entry, and reached for his phone, to text Sam, but was defeated as he found it dead. Jake sat down, looked at his mother, and tried to focus. "I think you're right. There are...things you need to know. I actually need some advice."

Mom nodded, and set down her tea, "We understand, Jake, that you're getting older, but have you considered that maybe now this isn't the best time to start things?"

"Start things?" Jake replied. Start what? They must mean the new flip that Darrell had gone on about at dinner. They'd relax when they knew he wasn't leaving. It was a bigger project, and the money was too good to pass up.

Mom nodded earnestly, lacing her fingers together. "After being alone, in such proximity, it's understandable that your relationship would evolve, but Sam's really not in the best position to consider dating, honey. Frankly, I don't think Wyatt would allow it."

"What?" Jake said, "Mom. You've...you're..." He shook his head, "No." That's what they were wasting his time over? Dating? Seriously? 

And what the hell did Wyatt have to do with anything? He wasn't about to go to Wyatt, hat in hand, for permission to love his daughter, like he didn't already, like he didn't know her better than anyone. It was completely insane. Jake felt guilty for the fact that, while they shouldn't be thinking about sex, that his dreams, his nightmares, were still incredibly sexually charged, even when he couldn't get it up. How could they be thinking about dating, like he and Sam were five or twelve. They were fighting for their lives, fighting for each other, not giggling over stolen kisses. "No."

His father cut in, "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Jake nodded.

His father read something in his face, and let the absurdity go. "We're going to take your word for it, Jake, but what we saw..."

"Sam's business is her business, Dad." Jake asserted, "I do need to tell you..."

"Oh?" Mom pushed, as he trailed off, as though he was going to tell her something crazy.

Jake threw it out there. "I got a job."

"What?" Mom said, "Jake..."

His parent's exchanged a glance. "Aren't you spread a little thin, Jake?"

"I got a job with Ballard." Jake elaborated, and waited for his mother to praise him. She did, and for a second, he basked in it, though he wasn't sure if he was happy with her reaction or the fact that he could leave now. He checked his phone. It was still dead. Dread churned within him. What if Sam was trying to call him?

"Oh, Jake! A summer job with Heck; That's wonderful, honey!" Jake's stomach hit the floor as she spoke, and he shot a frenzied glance at his father.

His father came through, and Jake was glad of it. "Maxine, I don't think it's a summer job."

"It's an internship." He said, straining to keep up the momentum so that they'd part on good terms and he could leave as soon as possible, "I can make it work with my classes. It'll count towards my degree."

Mom shook her head, sipping her tea. "But...you're so far away..."

"Mom." Jake broke in, "I'm not going back. I..."

"No!" The mug clattered onto the table. Her tone was as icy as the tea was hot, "You are going. Back. To. School."

"Jacob..." Dad cut in, trying to soothe his wife.

Jake scooted forward in the armchair, ready to go when he could, "Let me finish. I'm not taking on campus classes...but I will have the same degree, from the same school, at the same time, if not sooner. I'm going to take the job with Heck after internship, and I'm going..." Jake tried to tell them. He knew he should have given them the printout, so they would see.

Mom had tears in her eyes as she cried out, "I'll tell you what you're going to do, Jacob, what you're going to do is get some help. This has gone far enough without you getting some sort of professional help. You don't eat or sleep for weeks, and then, you run off only to come back with a completely different set of goals? No. Something's not right."

"The only thing that's not right, Mom, is your reaction." Jake was so hurt. She wasn't listening. She was telling him that he was crazy, or something. She had never really listened to him, he guessed. His dreams hadn't changed. They'd grown. He couldn't be afraid to tell her what it was that he wanted, even if it wasn't what she wanted for him.

"Forgive me if I'm a little upset that my son is dropping out of college." Her tone was bitter, and Jake felt a surge of anger. He wasn't dropping out. She hadn't heard a word he'd said. "Tell me this, Jake, does Sam know? Was this some scheme you two cooked up, because, frankly, this has her hand prints all over it."

"I'm not dropping out, I'm not even changing majors." He said, for the record, and then got to the point, "Don't pull Sam into this. I made a choice. I made this call." This was a choice he'd made, for himself, by himself.

Mom relaxed a bit, and Jake hoped this was wrapping up. It was not to be."Well that's something. She doesn't really have a say-"

Jake cut her off, "It's going to effect us both, and so you know what, Mom? She does have a say. She does. And I will take her opinion to heart, just like I tried to come here, and tell you...and ask for your advice..." Anger rolled through him, as did fear.

He was started to sweat. He needed to know where Sam was. He kept thinking about his phone, and the Scout.

He checked the screen again. It was still dead. He tried again, pressing with force into the power button. 

Mom extrapolated information form his actions, and thereby had all the ammunition she needed, "Sammy's accident has too much influence over you, Jake! Dropping out of school, giving up everything you've worked for to-" Mom paused, and let out a huff of air, tossing a look at Dad, and then at the phone that was clenched in his shaking hand.

Dad placed a soothing hand on Mom's arm. "I think we're getting off track, here. Is there anything else we need to know?"

"No." Jake said, trying not to freak out. What was she doing? She couldn't just leave! So what if he had to go to the barn? So what if he never used his phone? She still...he still... Oh. God.

This wasn't right. She had gone. He knew it. He knew that if he walked away, she would be gone, gone...Jake felt his throat clog. He barely resisted the urge to bolt.

"Thank you for your honesty." Dad said, and Jake knew he had been read like a book,"I think the best course of action, here, is to take a few minutes...and revisit this."

Jake nodded, and opened his mouth to speak. He needed to leave. He needed to leave. To go. He needed her. He felt a sense of rage, of pain, of fear. He wasn't sure what to do. Should he charge the phone? Just go. He would just go.

There came a knocking at the door. Who did they know, that would knock, at this hour? Most everyone just walked in. Jake knew that this was it. This was the bad news. This nightmare would never end. He wasn't ready for this. He would never be ready. Ninety years from now, he knew he would still be sitting in this damn chair, feeling every ounce of pain he felt now, when someone came to their door, and told him she was gone.

_You don't have to hide it, d_ _on't even have to fight it_

_Baby all you have to do is just turn and walk away_

_When you're tired of it all and tears need to fall_

_Your back's to the wall, c_ _ome crying to me_

_No don't even pack, d_ _on't even look back_

_Baby come crying to me_

_Come Crying to Me_ , Lonestar

Sam wobbled in the doorway, Pepper's truck pulling away once he saw she was safe, "Hey, Max..."

"Sammy..." Max was instantly troubled, her anger fading. Sam's eyes were haunted, and she was shaking, still she knew that Max had been mad when she'd opened the door with a terse hello.

"I..." Sam cleared her throat, "I'm fine." She just couldn't get over the threshold when the door was closed because she needed to hold onto the doorjamb, and her senses were too pained to actually touch the door. 

Max didn't buy it. Neither had Gram, who had whispered angry words at her father as he'd helped up into Pepper's truck.

Her grandmother had been angry, beyond furious, as Sam had said she was leaving, going, that she had no choice but to go. She'd said it over and over, until Gram had thrown her hands, causing Sam to flinch, and told Dad that whatever happened was on his head. He alone, she vowed, would be responsible for the consequences.

Dad had gotten angry, then, and said that Gram had to do what was best for Sam, no matter what she believed. Sam would be home in a while, anyway, as he would swing by to get her. It was just a visit. It wasn't enough, but to Sam, it was like the merest droplet of water in the Sahara.

Sam's ears were ringing. She felt like she was going to fall. She was sick to her stomach, with failure and regret. Sam didn't care.

She didn't care. She couldn't. She wouldn't. She fisted her hands in the skirt she wore, wishing with everything she had inside of her that Jake was there. She didn't know what to say to Max. Her soul felt like it had been filleted, and she had run, bolted for Jake, forgetting that he didn't really want her around, like she wanted to be around him. She had forgotten things were to be normal, now. Max was saying something, but Sam didn't hear her. She couldn't.

She was too busy trying to hold herself together. Her body felt alien, out of shape, like it did when she couldn't modulate her senses. Jake stuck his head in the room, "Mom..." He broke off, and stared at her, once he saw her standing there. His voice had sounded hoarse, like he'd been crying.

She wrapped her arms around her torso, and stepped over the threshold. Sam knew the ball was in her court. It always was, when she got like this, when everything felt so crazy. She tried to speak. "I...couldn't...I-I-I..." The words came in a stuttered rush, a jumble, one that felt too loud, like she was underwater. Her face felt horribly hot, and her throat ached.

The next thing she knew, she was in front of Jake. No. He'd come to her. "Pl-Please..."

Blessedly, he took over from there, shifting into her space. Her arms had been wrapped around her body, but Sam loosened them, and threw them around Jake. In the motion, she felt off balance. She needed him, needed to ground herself in something. The fabric of his t-shirt was grating in her fingers as she knotted it in her grasp, and wrapped her arms about him. Her eyes slammed shut.

Jake whispered something. Sam knew the words. It was prayer. She kept her eyes closed, and tried to center.

The phone began to ring, reverberating loudly in Sam's ears. It was loud, loud, loud. She had a vision of slamming it into the wall, over and over and over, if only she didn't feel like she was floating away. 

She jumped, and cried out softly, a keening plea for someone to make it stop. It was so loud, so loud that she could almost see the colors in the sound. Jake understood. Sam knew he did, because he pressed her closer still, and whispered things she couldn't make out, even as the phone stopped.

"You're alright..." Jake whispered, "It's okay...What do you need, Sam?"

 _You_. She couldn't say that. She couldn't. She couldn't. She pressed herself tighter about him, and shuddered. She wished...it didn't matter what she wished. "I feel like I'm floating away."

"You're not." Jake promised, "You're safe."

She didn't reply. She was lost in a sea of feelings and mixed up sensations, from the tight feeling in her toes to the sensitive, static feeling in every strand of her hair. The headband she wore was heavy, pulling her head to one side. Her body was covered in goosebumps, and the tiny shift in temperature left her completely overstimulated, unable to cope. There was too much information, too much feedback. 

She just wanted to feel solid, feel like she understood this mess. She wanted Jake, and so she pulled as hard as she could, pulled him as close as she could get him, pushing up on her toes, wobbling as she did so. Jake's grip on her body tightened, and Sam felt the first measure of relief. Her body felt like it was out of its mold. Jake's arms held her securely, almost lifted her into his arms. Sam longed to wrap herself about him, and know, beyond all measure, that she was safe, that she was okay. 

She was so tired. This wouldn't be happening if she hadn't left, if she wasn't so tired, her mind corrected. It was just that she had to be on guard, had to keep herself safe, and alert in a way that she didn't when Jake was around. He wouldn't let anything bad come their way, and she could only really relax if he was there. She'd hoped it was really about being home, but it wasn't. She needed him, needed, needed.

Jake took her silence as an urge to reply, softly, in a measured tone, "Sam, you're stressed. This is a normal reaction, do you understand? I want you to do what you need to do."

"No..." She shook her head, hating that she was dizzy. "I...can't stay." Fear bolted down her spine. She had to leave. She didn't want to leave him, go out there where there was so much to feel, things that she wasn't prepared to greet. She didn't want to go, but she had to. She'd told Dad. She was finally, finally, where she wanted to be, but it was so finite that she felt the pain, could not find rest. Her body shook with a tremor as her ears rang.

"Sam. Calm down." Jake replied, content to stand there, wrapped about her. "You aren't going anywhere, okay? Just..."

"Oh, God. My ears..." She moaned. "My ears...I'm going to be sick." She was so dizzy. There were so many colors. The ringing was louder, still, and she had no idea where her limbs were.

There was so much. Too much. The lamp flicked, as she couldn't bear to look at it. She felt like screaming at the cat, who was knocking his tinkle ball across the floor with abandon.

"You ready?" Jake asked, and Sam had no idea what he meant, as she was let go of, only to be pulled up, into his arms. "Alright?"

"Shhh..." Sam cried, uncaring that the room was spinning around her as he moved easily up the steps. Sam shivered. Jake helped Sam to sit down on the edge of the bed. "Okay?"

"Shh." She replied, "M'good. Shoes."

_Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm_

_Change of weather, still together when it ends_

_But things just get so crazy, living life gets hard to do_

_And I would gladly hit the road, get up and go if I knew_

_That someday it would lead me back to you_

_Sunday Morning_ , Maroon 5

Jake hated that he felt relief. Sam was overtaxed, had pushed herself too hard, too quickly, and all he felt was relief, that she was with him again. They could get through this. He just had to step up. He had a purpose, a reason to be, in her.

She was looking at him with those big eyes of hers, glossy with pain. It felt like a kick in the gut. He finally got her socks and shoes off, hating that she hissed at the sensation of the fabric being peeled away. Her nerve endings were overtaxed, producing pain she had no real cause to feel, on top of the real pain she had to endure. She was just tired, but there was no just about it. She needed to sleep. She had since before dinner. He should have done something, anything, to spare her this.

Jake knew he had to keep her aware of what was going on so no motion took her by surprise, and keep the talking to a minimum.

"Ready? 1. 2. 3." While he counted, they shifted together, to find a spot together on the bed. Sam hummed, probably in relief, when he pulled her bunched skirt so it wasn't stuck. She grabbed the hem, and fisted her hands into it, yanking it up towards her knees. Shifting onto the bed, Jake pulled the blanket over them, and locked their feet together. "This okay?"

"Not enough." She whispered, "I know you're mad at me, but I need you to hold me."

"I'm not mad..." He scooted closer, slid an arm around her, and breathed in the scent of her hair, "There's nothing to be mad about..." Jake breathed, onto the shell of her ear. Maybe if she heard it closely enough, there would be no doubt in her mind. She didn't really have to ask him to hold her.

"Talk later." She said, and they commenced the silent ritual of feeling. Jake hoped the confined space would help. They were in the center of Sam's bed, the horse sheets and thick quilt providing what could only be termed a cocoon of blankets. Kyla often said it would, as did the OT, whose name he could never remember. "Just touch me. Put me back into my body." 

This wasn't the first time her SPD had acted up like this. They'd talked about it. Silently, Jake pressed his lips into her hair, and wrapped her up in a hug. There was no space between them. Kyla had actually pulled them aside and taught them how to do this. Jake had hoped they'd never need it, but understanding that deep pressure touches, big, encompassing hugs, wrapping up in blankets, things like that, were far different from everyday touches. 

Sam snuffled into his neck, and whispered, "Thanks." Her back arched towards, and Jake felt the softness of her body around him, as the tension bled out of her body. It was a slow process. First, her toes uncurled, and then, her fingers went slack in his shirt, and looped around his neck, loosely. Then her calves relaxed, the goosebumps faded, and her knees stopped digging tightly into his legs. 

It was the same thing for her shoulders, her chest, the sloping lines of her frame, in the way that she sank into him, into the mattress below them and the pile of blankets above them. Jake had piled every blanket in the room on the bed, and it still wasn't enough. He flipped the top blankets over her, doubling them as Sam scooted closer to him, moving slowly, letting her body tilt to rest on top of the top sheet as she got tangled in the blankets. 

She gasped when the blankets tangled in her toes. She kicked at them, and Jake used his own foot to push them up, and set his foot on top of hers. Sam nosed along his neck, breathing deeply. Jake froze when she whispered, "You're the shell..." Jake hadn't realized that the deep pressure touch along her spine, along her shoulders, would make her think of a turtle. In the darkness, they shared a smile. "My mad, mad, shell..."

In the moments that followed, there were tiny touches, whispered nothings, until Sam fell asleep, head burrowed forward into Jake's chest. He knew his left knee would fall asleep if he didn't move it soon, but he didn't really care.

That had been bad, he knew, but it was by no means the worst bout with sensory issues she'd had. Jake surmised that Sam was overtired, stressed, and in pain. Anyone would have trouble, in this situation. Still, he wasn't about to shout her business from the hills. This intimacy, this vulnerability they shared, wasn't something the world deserved to know about. They didn't need to see the trust they placed in each other, simply because it made Jake's stomach tighten. He would die to protect their bond, but especially this part, this part that made Sam self-concious. 

Mom had seen, though, and so had Dad. 

They had seen Sam's hands, fisting into Jake's t-shirt, as she wrapped her arms around him. Mom had seen the desperation in their faces, as Sam had made some sound. She saw a different kind of tension overtake him, now that he finally had Sam back.It wasn't the desperation that came with needing to find her, but the certainty that came with knowing they had found each other, the drive to care for each other. 

 She saw too much of what was private, of what belonged to Sam. He only knew because Sam let him in, let him hold her when she felt vulnerable, let him feel her next to him in the darkness. She was his center, and he would protect her vulnerabilities with everything he had in him.

Still, what was this business of him being mad? He was mad, but not at her. He was mad that she'd obviously been forced into going. She'd said over and over not ten minutes ago that she hadn't wanted to leave, that she understood, and she would try to be normal, but that she needed him, needed him, needed him. What the heck was that? He had no idea what she was talking about, but it seemed important to her that he agree that they'd talk later, so he had, over and over, until at last she was silent, and finally fell asleep.

Jake couldn't sleep, or so he thought, but he fell asleep to the feeling of Sam's heartbeat next to him. Jake fell asleep, the warmth that surrounded him overcoming his vow to watch over Sam. He would hear if anyone came in, though he doubted they would.

_My choice is what I choose to do._

_And if I'm causing no harm_ _it shouldn't bother you._

_Your choice is who you choose to be_ _and if your causing no harm,_

_then you're alright with me._

_Burn One Down_ , Ben Harper

It wasn't everyday you overheard a group of no less than six people planning your future without your input, but when you did, Jake thought, you hid on the stairs like a kid playing spy and listened, praying no one would hear the clink of the ice in the glass next to you. He couldn't believe that his parents were doing this. Wyatt, he wouldn't put any sort of duplicity past, but his own brothers?

He'd come down the stairs, pausing as he'd herd his mother talking to his father. He could hear her moving around, sitting down only to surge to her feet in one smooth motion. "I'm going up there."

"Max, please." Dad said, for which he was glad, as he wasn't about to let Mom wake up Sam. "Listen to me. What did you see, two hours ago?"

Well, that answered his question as to what time it was. He heard Mom sit back down, with a sigh, "I can't believe he's doing this."

"After what we just saw, Max, I'm going to support it." Her husband said, softly. Jake nearly smiled. It didn't matter what they thought, of course, but a little parental support was always nice.

"You're going to support him throwing away his dreams, throwing away everything he's worked for, to give into his fear? For him...just to be..." She spluttered, and Jake could see her in his mind's eye, playing with her bracelets, like she did when stressed.

She hadn't listened. She hadn't listened. As usual, Mom had heard what suited her. It had been her goal that he go away, not his. He wanted to be a cop, be involved here, not there. She was the one who played up the whole college boy angle, even though he'd done AP credits and could've worked through a degree much more quickly if not for her insistence. He wanted an education, and he would have one, and a smaller gasoline bill, too. Why couldn't she be happy for them?

Dad took up their position, "We can't understand their situation."

"I'm telling you, they're..." She started again, "Something's off with their relationship." Mom asserted, "Something's not right. Grace is right. She said on the phone that it's not right, and I agree." Jake bristled at that. The only thing wrong with their relationship was that people kept trying to stick their noses in it. If people would just let them be, things would be a million times better.

"I say leave them be." Adam advised, obviously from the corner chair.

"I agree." Quinn concurred, "They're a mess."

Jake's grip on the banister's spokes relaxed, as his brothers spoke calmly. He owed them, even more, it seemed. He hadn't really thanked them for being there. He needed to talk to Quinn. He owed him a lot, least of all some communication. His brother was literally, in every sense, the balance that had gotten him through the weeks without Sam. He knew that, and he felt a rush of unity with his brother.

Wyatt interjected, "Which is why they need time apart."

There came a crackle on the phone, like someone was umuting themselves. Jake reminded himself that this was only a discussion, that nothing had been decided. It didn't stop the roll in his stomach though, as Jake breathed, softly.

Sue spoke. "Wy, don't deny it, part of the reason you sent her to San Francisco was for perspective, because she kept asking for him at the hospital, and it freaked you out." She had asked for him? Jake hadn't known that. Had he known, he would have stayed, would have been there. He had listened to Wyatt when Wyatt said that he should go on home when the life-flighted Sam from the regional hospital to San Francisco. His trust in Wyatt had been misplaced. Jake felt a shot of rage in his veins.

Sue continued, "It took them eight weeks to blow that up. You think they're going to let a few miles stop them?"

Jake was rooting Sue on, right down to her strident tone. Wait. Hold up. She had been sent there to split them up, at least partly? No. He felt sick. They had actively tried to break them apart. They had done this to them. Intentionally. There could be no baser form of betrayal. She had asked for him, too, and he hadn't come. He should have gone. He never should have left her. He would have come, had he known.

"She's sixteen!" Wyatt blustered. "And it wasn't that I wanted them apart, Sue. She is a child and she needed to recover in the best place possible."

Jake could hear Dad shift his weight as he spoke, "No one is saying for you to...toss her over the fence, Wyatt, but..."

Wyatt cut in, "She is not capable of..." On that, Jake disagreed. Sam were capable of anything, and the little gathering here was giving them the ammunition to show them all just how capable they both were. How dare Wyatt make pronouncements like that. Sam was so much stronger than her father gave her credit for.

"Wyatt Forrester." Sue cut in, "You listen to me. I am telling you, if you send her back here, without her consent, there will be hell to pay, both from her, and him."

"It's about what's best for her, Susan! I tried to take her to the barn and she..." Jake's spine went ramrod straight, and he forgot to breathe for a second. That's the stressor that had tipped Sam over the edge. Far too much, far too fast, without time to prepare for it.

Jake pressed his feet into the wood of the stair ledge, hoping that the contact would prevent him from busting in there. Did Wyatt have any clue what he had done, almost pushed her to do? She had said, a million times, that she wasn't ready. Her mind couldn't have changed so quickly, could it?

"You tried to..." Sue blurted, "Now, who is pushing her? Have you even spoken to your child, Wyatt?"

"You don't understand, Sue." Wyatt said softly, "When someone falls, you get them right back on, and..." Jake knew that was standard procedure, but what about Sam counted as run of the mill? Certainly not this.

"You didn't!" Mom breathed, horrified. "She's nowhere near ready!"

"Of course I didn't!" Wyatt snapped, "I just thought she would want to see them, and she bolted."

"And you're angry, because she ran to Jake." Sue said, and Jake felt like cheering her on, "Don't answer that. I know. Grow up, Wyatt. She nearly died. She nearly _died_ , and there is going to be things you can't understand about it. He gets her. You should be happy."

"She's sixteen." The man stressed. Jake rolled his eyes. So what? It wasn't like they were having sex. He was well aware of their age difference, and the legal implications. Dad had sat him down, the week before he was 18, and told him flat out. He hadn't needed to know, and Dad had known that, but had advised him to file it under useful information.

That had been almost a year and a half ago, and their relationship was still the same. Why was he reading that subtext into the conversation? They were friends. His messed up sexual nightmares had no meaning in the daylight. 

"You keep coming back to that." Adam said, "Makes me wonder what the real issue is here." Jake grinned as the point hit home, and Wyatt cleared his throat. Adam: 1 Wyatt: 0.

Mom changed the subject, "Susan, may I ask, how do you think Sam fared in San Francisco?"

"She was..." Regina searched for a word, and Jake resented her presence in the discussion, even if he did like her, "Fine. She worked. She functioned. I don't know much, because she didn't say."

She hadn't said, because it wasn't their business, Jake thought, wondering how he should handle this.

"Regina?" Wyatt pleaded for information.

"Mr. Ely, I..." Regina said, "Perhaps I should excuse myself." Jake hoped she would, but then again, he hoped she wouldn't, because if she left the room, she'd see him, and he'd never get to the point of this little enclave.

"If you are uncomfortable, certainly, however, I think your perspective would be helpful to Sam." Oh, Dad was spreading the charm on thick.

"I can only tell you what I know." Regina capitulated, "The first day I came to work, Sam said seven words. She stared at the wall, when she wasn't pushing herself to the edge in therapy. I know that the idea of coming home gave her goal, a purpose, something to cling to. I know that she has improved by leaps and bounds..." Regina said, slowly. "You all should be very proud of what's Sam's done, and the woman she is."

Jake updated the scoreboard in his head, adding a new name to the people on their side. Regina: 1 Adam: 1; Mom and Wyatt: 0

Wyatt asked, "Do you think that that has anything to do with Jake?" Jake's palms itched. What sort of question was that? Just what was Wyatt getting at?

"No." Regina said. "She would have gotten through herself. She has, and she will. I recognize, though, that the support of her loved ones is invaluable."

"So...we're agreed?" Mom ventured. Jake could take no more. He was unable to sit there, sit there, and let them decide their fate.

Gathering his courage, Jake stepped into the room, almost smiling as the room stilled with the creak of the stair.

Their surprise was palpable. They'd all betrayed Sam when she needed them most. It was s kick in the teeth. "Are you that angry at me, Mom, that you would take it out on Sam? Be mad at me. I did this. I made these choices, all of them. This is on me." Every word rang with truth. Jake had done this. She had no right to take her anger out on Sam.

It took her a moment to find her voice. Everyone looked contrite, Jake thought. "We're trying to make the best decisions for everyone, Jake. Yes, your pronouncements this afternoon have impacted this discussion but-"

"Then, why weren't we here?" Jake asked, "If it's our life on the table, why weren't we invited to this little meeting?"

"Jake, maybe you should shut up, for once." Seth advised, "And listen."

"To what?" Jake returned. "Listen while all of you talk about things you don't understand? You know what? Forget it. If you won't respect Sam enough to not talk about her behind her back, then I will."

With that, Jake left the room, fury and indignation surging in his blood. Forget it. Forget it all. Forget them. He grabbed his novel off of the table in the hallway and went up the stairs. He'd read until he was tired, until he was no longer enraged and hurt. Addie Bundren had nothing on his mother.

_Got the freedom to choose_

_You better make the right move_

_Young man, the power's in your hand_

_Slam your fist on the table and make your demand_

_You better make the right move_

_Youth_ , Matisyahu

Sam woke with a start. Her nose was running. She reached up, and instinctively knew that her nose was bleeding. The substance felt like blood, and smelled metallic. She somehow made it out of Jake's embrace without waking him, and tried to hurry towards the bathroom across the hall. She knocked a book off the nightstand as she stood, and was glad it didn't wake Jake.

It took her a good five minutes to get out the bed and to the bathroom. Sam turned on the light, wobbling as a splatter of blood hit the floor and she adjusted to the light. She moved towards the sink, grabbing it for support. _Plink_. The blood hit the porcelain, deep red against a stark white. _Plink. Plink._

A primal part of her mind told her she needed to stop this nosebleed, even as she found the process fascinating. Blood was running like a faucet out of the left nostril, and merely dripping from the right, and it seemed almost enthralling. Grabbing for some toilet paper, Sam tried to wipe the blood away.

She jumped, nearly falling back into the toliet, as Jake scream ripped the air.

Sam flew out of the bathroom, fear spinning within her, bumping into Maxine in the hallway. Max's voice was subdued, as though she'd figured out something, "Sammy. You're bleeding."

Sam pulled her hand away from her nose and found that blood was on her fingernails. It was gross, and starting to make her ill. This is why people shouldn't see their blood, she thought.

She nodded, trying to pinch her nose and pull away, "My n'ose." Jake needed her. He needed her, and Max was in the way. Max needed to let go of her, let go, and let her go to Jake. She was one second from stepping away, forcefully pulling away, when her blood spattered Max's arm.

"Come on." Max marched Sam back into the bathroom.

Sam shook her head. "I'm fine. I've got to go."

Max shook her head, and Sam stepped back, as she heard her bedroom door swing open.

The washcloth Max was wetting fell to a floor in a heavy splat as she looked up to see Jake across the hallway. The door to Sam's room nearly flew off its hinges. Jake's voice was panic personified, "Sam?"

Sam froze, as the light from the vanity on hit Jake's shirt. Max was looking back and forth between them, a sudden shock of awareness spreading over her face as Sam realized that a few small droplets of her blood was on Jake's shirt. Sam pressed with the toilet paper, "I'm 'orry."

"I..." Jake began, floundering around in the doorway, looking panicked. "You were...and I..."

Max recovered, it seemed, and passed Sam the washcloth, as Sam spoke "'m o'kay."

Jake shook his head, as if shocked as to what he was hearing. "Mom, you can go back to bed."

"I'm going to trust, Jake, that you will escort Sam back to her own bed." Max said archly, turning away, with a soft kiss to Sam's tousled head.

"I..." Sam began, when she turned the fabric over to find a new spot for the slowing bleeding.

"You know better. Pinch." Jake ordered. Sam was so confused. He had screamed. Why? What was wrong? Why did Max not insist on checking on him once she saw Sam? Why was he sweating, and why were his hands trembling?

"'ake." Sam begged. Her nose was bleeding because of the dry air, the change in elevation. It was nothing. She'd slept through medications, including the nebulizer. That's all this was. It was a blood vessel. You bled like a stuck pig for a while, but nothing was really wrong.

Jake repeated, kneeling down in front of her, " _Pinch_."

"'ou 'ad?" She asked, trying to speak without closing her mouth.

"I'm infuriated." Jake said, brushing aside bangs that were sticking to her face. "I'm beyond angry, here, Sam."

"coose me?" Her voice was muffled, but indignant.

Jake stood, pulled off his shirt. "You weren't there. Your pillow was, though. Had your blood on it."

"'m 'ine." She was fine, if a bit wonky. It had been a tough night, but transitions were going to be like that. The therapists had warned her, and she knew. She had been overly tired, leading to her senses getting all funny. The nosebleed wasn't connected, it was just bad timing. She tried to keep her eyes to herself, but it was difficult, as Jake seemed intent on having a discussion right now.

"You're not fine." He corrected, stealing the extra washcloth off the rack and dousing it with warm water, rising away the dried blood on his upper clavicle, where the shirt hadn't covered. He looked at the blood on the rag, and went deathly pale. "You've lost a ton of blood." His hands were shaking.

Sam knew he needed to understand that he was overreacting. She took away the rag, and let go of the spot on her nose. "I think it's stopped."

"We should stay up a bit, keep your head elevated." Jake said. He seemed to breathe better when the bloody rags were doused in cold water.

"It's after 3." Sam yawned, noting the time on the clock with the timer used to limit showers for water conservation.

"Yep." Jake nodded. "3:27. Come with me." He looked as though an idea had occurred to him, and he seemed to be almost normal.

Sam stopped short, standing awkwardly, in Jake's personal space, in the small bathroom.

"Go change." He stepped back, after a second, a haunted look in his eyes. His eyes were heated, pained, and they looked into her, deep into her marrow. Sam quivered when he repeated himself. " _Go_."

"I can't wake Regina." Sam bit her lip.

"Can you manage a clean night thing?" Jake gesticulated in the general vicinity of her body.

"Yes. Why?" Sam asked.

"Because seeing your blood is my worst..." He broke off, "I can't stop thinking about it. Please." Jake admitted. Sam saw the need in his eyes, and tripped across the hall, pulling off her shirt before she shut the door. 

_Look at the stars,_

_Look how they shine for you a_ _nd everything you do,_

_Yeah, they were all yellow._

_And you know,_

_For you I'd bleed myself dry,_

_For you I'd bleed myself dry._

_It's true,_

_Look how they shine for you,_

_Look how they shine for you,_

_Yellow_ , Coldplay

He had to get outside. He had to. He'd been planning this for days, but the nosebleed had thrown him off. Jake's dream was vivid.

This time, Sam's blood had spread all over his skin, and he couldn't get it off. Her mouth had been fused to his, she'd been telling him how much she loved him as her soft hands had been everywhere, how much she wanted him, when the whole dream shifted, like someone had shut off a light switch.It was no longer ethereal and arousing.

The dream took on a black, harsh, dark, edge. It was hell, a painful hell. He relieved so much of the accident, only the emotions, and not the actions. Sam had vanished and the earth had gone black. In his dream, he found himself under the water in La Charla, under, under, under, and found himself unable to breathe, Sam's blood coating his skin as she'd screamed his name, like she did in every dream he'd had since he'd heard her scream like that for real.

Her blood stained him, and no matter how much water he used he couldn't wash it off. His yearning had turned to abject terror and desperation when he'd woken up with a scream to find that his nightmares were real. Sam was gone. _Gone_. She was gone and her pillow was stained with blood. For a moment, he thought that his dream had been real. 

The blood on his hands, on his body, was the only thing left behind. For a blinding moment, one that was seared into him, he hadn't know where she was or if it was real. Nothing made sense.

This day was a series of nightmares come to life. First, with Sam being gone, and then, waking up to find the bed empty and marred by her blood. It had happened twice. _Twice_. Jake had no sense of equilibrium left. It had been ripped to shreds.

He knew that Sam suspected something more than what she knew for sure. She had no clue, not in any factual way, what life without her had been like. He had to tell her. He had to tell her, because if she knew, if she knew, there was no way that she would leave without a fight. He had no idea what they were planning, but he knew it was something.

"Jake!" A voice hissed, "Get in here." His brother had poked his head out of his bedroom door. He was the only one in his childhood bedroom, but Seth looked very old as he called his name. 

"Seth. Go to bed." His voice came out biting. Leave me alone. Why hadn't they all learned their lesson? "Leave me alone." He was sorry, embarrassed, that he'd woken up his brother.

Seth came more fully into the light. Jake saw the fatigue in his eyes. His next words were measured. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Jake went into the room, because he had no other real choice. 

"Every night?" Seth replied, sitting on the bed, when Jake took he chair.

Jake knew he was talking about the night terrors. "When I sleep, yeah." Jake admitted.

"Buddy, you need to talk to someone." Seth frowned, "I...had no idea that...I thought Quinn was..."

Jake tried to absolve his brother, set him at ease, "He doesn't know much, Seth."

"That's the trouble." Seth bit out, and Jake knew he'd said the wrong thing. He had no people skills, and he was still half out if it with fear. He needed Sam. He should be outside her door, even now. "Nobody knows anything, but they think they know everything. The human condition makes for a comedy of errors."

Jake didn't get that. "What's so funny about it?"

"You mean you didn't hear the whole conversation?" Seth said, "I wondered why you reacted the way you did."

Jake's heart stopped as Seth fiddled with the edge of his quilt, desperation tinging his voice, raw and painful, "Tell me."

Seth spoke slowly, "Wyatt's all but sold on letting her stay. Seems she gave him what for in the barn, and he figures if she can put him in his place, she can figure the rest out. You walked in on some of the logistics..."

"You're kidding." Jake all but squeaked.

"Would I lie to you?" Seth asked. Jake knew. He might lie about who ate the last cookie, but not this. Never this. Seth was his brother. "Wyatt is concerned. Actually, I think it might be Grace who saw you two at dinner and thinks you're having sex."

"What?" Jake blurted. Sam was healing from massive trauma. What kind of monster would he be if... The idea that he would sexualize her need for comfort was disgusting. He did not mention his own sexual issues to his brother. They weren't issues. They were normal. Neither of them wanted sex, so there was no reason in hell they would be having it. 

They were friends! That was not in any definition of friends he ever heard, not that they would do that if he had seen such a definition. What? "He thinks we're having...?" Jake trailed off, unable to say it. Sam was not interested in him like that. In the past, he'd had something of a crush on her, but that had faded ages ago. The only reason he even thought about it now was because Seth had known, and had, in his logical way, helped him deal. It had passed, as crushes always did, and things went back to normal.

Seth looked at him curiously, "If you can't say it, you shouldn't do it, and yes."

"Why does no one believe me when I say we're friends?" Jake said. Why did no one understand that their friendship was too special to screw up with something as meaningless, as temporal, as simple as a physical relationship? They were friends. It was more than any dating relationship could ever be.

Seth grinned, "Blindness is a part of the human condition, buddy."

"I guess so." Jake replied, "I should go see if Sam's alright."

"Yeah." Seth said, "Wouldn't want her to bump into walls in the dark, or something."

"What?" Jake said, leaving the room. That hadn't occurred to him, but he calmed internally, as the absurdity of the statement hit him,"The light is on."

"Yeah, but ain't nobody home." Seth said, softly, and Jake swore he'd misheard him as his brother's door shut behind him.

_Can we pretend that airplanes_

_In the night sky are like shooting stars?_

_I could really use a wish right now_

_Wish right now, wish right now_

_Yeah, I could use a dream or a genie or a wish_

_To go back to a place much simpler than this_

_Airplanes, B.o.B Feat. Hayley Williams_

Sam finally finished tugging the nightdress over her head. She was glad that some of her clothes had made it into Jake's duffel, somehow, or she would have not had anything to wear. He clean nightgown was one Sue had given her, and it thankfully had a light robe thing, that Sam didn't know the exact name of. Sam hadn't really worn this one, which explained how it ended up with Jake's clean laundry at Sue's. The polka dotted lavender cotton was comfortable, but the robe's tie was annoyingly fussy. She shrugged it on anyway. She still felt self-conscious about Gram's reaction to her clothes earlier today.

She opened her bedroom door, knowing the hinge squeaked, and trying to be quiet so as to not wake everyone again. "Jake? My shoes...

He shook his head, and said, "You don't need them. Ready?"

"Ready for-?" Her whispered question was cut off, as Jake once again scooped her up and made his way downstairs. In the meantime, he'd changed, and so Sam shouldn't have been surprised when he opened the screen door with his foot, and went outside. "Jake!"

"You trying to get us caught?" He returned, like this was them sneaking out for the millionth time. He ignored her spluttering as he made his way down a slight incline. The chirrups of the bugs, and the whoop-whoop of a barn owl was the only noise, aside from their breathing, and the sound of his feet, that filled her ears as the walked.

Sam was incredulous as they came to a stop. "You want to play on the swing at this hour?" Jake let her down in a soft patch of grass. Sam felt the grass under her feet and shuddered as the nightgown swirled around her calves. It wasn't bad, but it was a lot of sensation, almost to the point of being overmuch, but it was nice.

Jake stepped around her, still close enough to feel the warmth of his body, and steadied the swing. The rope handle was abrasive under her fingers as Sam lowered herself to the seat. She scooted to the left. Jake wedged himself onto the seat next to her.

Sam knew they were too big for this, they had been for a long time. Jake said it was because she was hippy, but her hips were much slimmer now, so the fit wasn't as tight. Sam missed the jibes, almost. "Aren't you going to make some crack about my hips?"

"Do you want me to?" The swing creaked, as Jake turned his head to look at her. They moved backward as he did, and Sam instinctively grabbed him for support.

They were so close. Sam couldn't think. The swinging was so very soothing to her senses. The owl gave a whoop into the night sky, but Sam didn't hear it. Jake's eyes were mere centimeters from hers, and they were illuminated by the stars above them.

She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a whoosh of air. There was a moment, a nanosecond, that something shifted in the air around them. Sam tilted her head, and breathed in. Jake shifted, too, and Sam felt as though she was utterly consumed by his gaze.

She was held fast by his gaze, the arm supported her on the swing. The swing, as Sam leaned in, swung back quickly. Jake, on the edge as he was, fell off of the swing. Once Sam realized that she, too, hadn't fallen, uncontrollable laughed spilled forth from her lips. "Ar-Ar-Are you okay?"

He picked himself up, and dusted off the seat of his pants, and scowled as she laughed, "I-I think it was your..."

He resumed his spot on he swing, "Yeah. Blame me, why don't you?"

Sam's laughter subsided, as whatever had been between them passed. Jake used his right foot to gently move the swing back and forth. Sam found, oddly, that as long as his arm held her steady that the motion was soothing. Jake didn't say much, for a few moments. Everything was so complicated, a mesh of emotions. He seemed to be assuring himself that she was there, as he breathed deeply next to her exposed skin, until she could barely suppress a shiver.

Gone were the days that they'd played on this swing, unaware and uncaring of the world that waited beyond the swells of land they called their own. Sam tilted her head back and looked the stars. In that moment, the feeling of finally, finally, being home descended upon her. She could see the constellations that had been above her all of her days. Not a single light or cloud marred the view of the sky that stretched on for ages, a testament to the wonder of creation.

Finally, Jake spoke, "Haven't been down here since..."

The worn grass under her feet tickled as the swing stopped. "It's okay, Jake."

She remembered the last time they'd been here. It had been right before...Well, before. They had gone to some event at the Catholic church Darrell's Mom's guild or whatever was throwing. After that, they'd come home and hung around the barns. It had been a day like any other. Sam had been walking inside, when she'd noticed the clouds had parted, and she'd sat on the swing staring up at the sky, thinking about mythology, and God, and what it meant to be redeemed.

Jake had come upon her and he'd squeezed into the seat, grumbling about how she was taking up most of it. They'd sat there, not saying anything, and Sam had taken that moment for granted. She had ignored the peace that had enveloped her then, and she wanted it back. She wanted to know that there was nothing that needed to be said between them. Jake was hiding something.

"No..." Jake replied, "We have...to be honest, Sam. It's not okay." There was ice in her blood. Moments ago, the moment had been joyous, and now the air was thick between them, not with wonder, as it had been earlier, but with concern.

_You can't start a fire_

_you can't start a fire without a spark_

_This gun's for hire_   
_even if we're just dancing in the dark_

_You can't start a fire worrying about your little world falling apart_

_This gun's for hire_

_You sit around getting older_   
_there's a joke here somewhere and it's on me_   
_I'll shake this world off my shoulders_   
_come on baby the laugh's on me_

_Dancing in the Dark_ , Bruce Springsteen

Jake felt Sam tense next to him. He was glad that he didn't have to look at her as he spoke, "I...Sam?"

"Yeah?" She whispered, into the darkness. Her voice was so trusting, a comfort to him in ways that he couldn't express.

"I don't know what's going to happen, here." He confessed, "I walked into a conversation earlier that wasn't..." He searched for words, "It wasn't pretty, Sam. I...drew some conclusions. I don't know if they were the right ones. Seth says they weren't. He's probably right. But before you decide...there's some things you have to know." It would be her choice. Jake wouldn't let this happen any other way. She deserved the right to make the choice, one that would define her life.

"Jake?" Sam said, and he saw her finely shaped tones dig into the grass, as though she was expecting something bad. He didn't know what to say.

"I have nightmares. I wake up screaming." Jake looked at his lap. "Sometimes, I wake up bleeding. One night, I woke up to find that I'd bitten the inside of my cheek so hard that..." She didn't need to know that the blood had tainted his tastebuds for days after that. "It's the dreams, Sam."

"What are they about?" Sam's gaze was burning into him, her soft words urging him to tell her everything, to throw himself into the comfort she offered. He could hear her intake of breath when she realized the implications of what had happened tonight, what he'd awakened to, in the dark, just a little while ago.

He summed up the myriad of dreams he faced each night, the horror and hurt, all in one word. "You."

"Oh God, Jake." He voice was broken, "No. No." Sam pulled up her feet, as though shocked, and threw herself into him. Jake continued, after a moment of silence. Their harsh breaths mingled in the night, as he bore he soul.

"I wake up screaming your name. I can never get to you. Over and over, night after night, I'm trying to get to you, and I can't. I can't." His mind added thoughts he wouldn't speak. I can't get to you because I failed you once. His voice broke as he continued aloud, "You're gone. Do you get it? I woke up, and you were gone. What happened tonight..." It was a nightmare come to life. Just thinking about waking up like, seeing her blood like that, made him shake. The starlight around them blurred, as tears sprang to his eyes. It had happened twice today, and he couldn't take anymore.

"It's okay." Her hand was on his arm, and Jake leaned into her touch.

"It's not!" Jake stopped moving the swing abruptly, "I can't do this without you. I can't. Mom's riding me about getting help, but she doesn't get it. I don't need help. I need..." His struggled to put it out there. "...you. I'm not used to feeling like my life's been taken from me." He wasn't a passive guy. He needed her, needed to help her, needed to be there, needed her for always, needed to know that his world wasn't going to be torn apart.

"Jake." Sam's voice was hard, like flint, the sort she used when she was certain about something, and she was telling him how it was going to be, no matter what he thought. "I'm not going anywhere."

He wanted to believe her, wanted to trust in her words, just as easily as he felt the press of her hand over his. His thoughts spilled forward, confessing the details of the discussion he'd overheard. After he finished, he added, "So, yes, you are! I know it. Wyatt's going to send you back, and my mom's fine with it, because she's angry at me about school, and they're splitting us up, Sam!"

"I'd like to see them try it." Sam replied, a challenge clear in her tone. "Just let them try." How she could be so trusting and so brave he didn't know.

"I thought she'd be happy!" Jake felt so heavy, as he confessed, "I've gotten that internship, just like I..." Jake broke off, "I thought she'd be happy. But she wasn't. And now, I'm losing you. Again. I'm losing you because of a choice I made. Again." It was the story of his life. He couldn't make the right choice, not even to save his life. Not even to save hers. Not even to save their life together. It burned and sizzled like a branding iron into his soul.

"Listen to me." Sam took charge, voice soft, but commanding, "Listen, okay? The accident was not your fault. If you think it was, we should be apart. I know you want things to go back to normal, Jake, but I don't think they can. Maybe...they know that."

"They don't know anything." He wasn't willing to discuss the accident. He couldn't. They were too raw, still. "I keep making the wrong choices. I keep doing what I want, Sam, because all I want is you, and it's not working. I just keep screwing it all up."

He was screwing up because he wasn't putting her first. He was trying to, but he knew he was a sinful guy, someone who just wanted to assuage his own pain. She had to come first. She did, in thought and in word, but now it had to be in action, in deed. No matter what Wyatt did next, he knew that he had to do something to make this easier on Sam, not on himself.

"No, Jake." Sam shook her head, as the bugs chirruped around them, "You know that's not true. It's tough, all around. But how can you say you screw things up? You've done nothing but help me, you know."

She was just trying to make him feel better. "Yeah, because your father hating me is just so good for you." The night was shifting around them. He didn't know how long they'd been sitting here. It felt like an eon that had flashed by in a single second. His heart was racing, and he could feel Sam, hear the pain in her voice.

"He doesn't hate you." She whispered, pushing her chilled hands against him, "He's human. He's scared."

He snorted, and Sam's voice was soft but chiding. "I understand pain, Jake. You think you're alone in needing me. But you're not. You're really not."

A moment stretched between them, the ragged sound of breathing filling their ears, before she added, "I...have dreams, too. Do you know what happens to me, when I don't know where you are? When I don't know when I'll see you again?"

That was the problem! He didn't know. He didn't know. The not knowing was killing him. The uncertainty was ripping them apart, inside.

Sam continued, "I can feel you touching me anytime I want to, and you think you're messed up? Jake, you're literally a part of my neurology, somehow. I'm dependent on you in ways that probably makes me certifiable. I-"

"No." Jake said, harshly, "You're healing, Sam. You'll move past needing me, but me, I..." He would never stop needing her, never. He had tried, done everything he could think of. Jake knew he'd worked himself into the ground, praying for her, praying to escape the hell that his life had been, praying for God to end this somehow, and not once, had the need for her abated. God hadn't taken it away. If the Creator of the Universe wouldn't remove that from him, then nothing ever would.

"I sort of hope we do grow past this a little." Sam said. Her voice was raw, as though she was trying not to cry, "Needing you like this, it's going to make things difficult. So I do hope we heal. But know that you're healing too. Know that whatever we do, we'll do together, okay?"

"Do you promise?" Jake wasn't above begging her. He needed the words.

Her response was a question, "Do you trust me?"

There didn't need to be a reply to that, but she was expecting one. He nodded. He trusted her with everything, with the deepest of his secrets, with his very soul.

"Then okay." She leaned down against him, head on his shoulder "I promise. Do you think you could be okay, with not being normal?"

The emotional maelstrom had passed, and a quiet companionship overtook them, a sense of ease, like a storm had passed, "What do you mean?"

"You like the sameness, the normality. You wanted to come home and have things go back to the way they were, but I'm not ready for that. I'm just not." Sam feet arched, into the grass, sheepishly.

"Brat." Jake said, catching her gaze and her hand, "Maybe, we can have our own normal, okay?" The thrum of her pulse against his fingers was soothing.

"Mhm." Sam said, "We can try. You do know, right, that it's not normal to haul a girl outside in her nightgown and not bring a blanket."

"Want to go in?" Jake asked, wondering if she was cold.

"Nah. Let's see if we can't greet the sun. On the couch, though. My bottom hurts."

"You should eat more." He tried to cover up the pain in that truth with a joke, "Do something about sitting on your boney...bones..."

Thank God, it didn't fall flat, and spoil their hard won rapport. Her laughter wrapped around him like the warmest of blankets, as they unfolded themselves from the swing. Jake found, as they walked away, that the pain they'd worked through on the tiny wooden seat was washed away, left behind.

_We get it almost every night_

_And when that moon is big and bright_

_It's a supernatural delight_

_Everybody's dancing in the moonlight_

_Dancing in the moonlight_

_Everybody's feeling warm and bright_

_It's such a fine and natural sight_

_Everybody's dancing in the moonlight_

_Dancing in the Moonlight_ , King Harvest

As they settled onto the small sofa on the porch that Max put out during the summer, Sam tried to settle her emotions. She felt an influx of every emotion under the sun. She'd had no idea that Jake had been in that much pain, no idea that he thought he needed her as much as she knew she needed him. She'd hoped, she'd prayed, sometimes, but now she knew. "Jake?"

He had already pressed his head into her chest, lying so that he could be on his side to see the sun, and keep most of his weight off of her body, "Hmm?"

Sam grinned. He was probably nodding off already. "I have a feeling."

"Liar." He said sleepily, "You have lots of feelings, too many. Lots. I can feel them. I know."

"You can feel my feelings, now?" Sam joked. She was shocked, then, when he sleepily laced his fingers through hers, and placed their intertwined hands over his heart.

"Mhm. I feel them here." Sam's heart was racing.

She tried to hold it together as her mouth dried. She licked her lips. "I-I have a feeling you don't know about."

Jake was close to being out like a light, though, as he merely said, "Hm?"

Sam nodded, "I feel like today is going to be a very good day."

The only reply Sam received was a soft snuffle that became a snore. Sam smiled, and waited for the sun. It was not long in coming, but by the time it did, she had been sound asleep for ages.

_Dear One_

_The world is waiting for the sunrise._

_Ev'ry rose is covered with dew._   
_And while the world is waiting for the sunrise,_   
_In my heart I'm calling you._

_The World Is Waiting For The Sunrise_ , Les Paul and Mary Ford


	12. The Red Strokes

_It's the terror of knowing w_ _hat this world is about_

_Turned away from it all like a blind man_

_Sat on a fence but it don't work_

_Keep coming up with love but it's so slashed and torn_

_Why, why, why?_

_Under Pressure_ , Queen & David Bowie

"Good Morning, Mrs. Ely." Regina said, entering the kitchen. Max looked up to see Regina there, dressed and sleepy, though she looked uneasy. Her dark hair was neat, but underneath her relaxed bangs rested hesitant expression.

"Regina, call me Maxine, or Max, whichever you prefer." The woman in question was chopping vegetables easily, "I hope we didn't wake you last night."

"No, I slept like a log." Regina sat in the barstool that was offered to her, across the counter. "Did something happen?"

The knife cut through vegetables with a definitive crunch. "Yes. Sam got one heck of a nasty nosebleed." Max said, passing through the leaves again with quick but sure motions. She paused, suddenly, and set the knife down. "Should we have been more concerned?" Max didn't want to say that she felt completely out of her element with Sam. The things that Jake accepted as a normal reaction, he'd said, scared her to her core.

"Was she?" Regina poured herself a cup of the dark brew on a tray on the counter, and made herself at home, using the sugar that sat on the counter next to her. Max was glad to see that she'd made use of the coffee she'd set out for their guest. In that ritual, at least, she could find her feet.

"Not really." Max thought, "Sam was mostly intent on making sure Jake was okay. She seemed alert." Max didn't want to say it, but she was scared by how much Sam had fought her to go to Jake. She was gushing blood, and her actions had been cool and collected, wholly focused. She had been so intent on getting to Jake that Max didn't know what would have happened if blood hadn't splattered her arm and given her the excuse to haul Sam into the bathroom.

"Well, there you go." Regina set down her coffee. Max was confused at her easy tone. Of course she wasn't worried. This didn't involve her children.

Confusion marred her brow as she stared at the normally jovial woman. "I don't take your meaning."

"She knows more about her own body than anyone else, ma'am." Regina spoke softly, "It seems to me we're all better off trusting her to know her limits."

"It's so hard." The words spilled out of Max. She was desperate to talk to someone who didn't seek to to invalidate her place in Sam's life, like Grace seemed to be doing, or villainize her for trying to do what was best. There was a ton of tension between her and Grace right now. They tried to agree on what was best for Sam, but it rankled to know that Grace had more say in Sam's life than she did. Maxine tried to respect the facts of the situation, but it seemed to her that the only fact that mattered was that her children were in pain, and people were standing in the way of her being there. 

She might not have carried Sam, but no mother took kindly to that. She felt shut off from her little girl. Who, maybe, wasn't such a little girl anymore. 

Her eyes filled with tears, "Three months ago, she was our little girl, and now, I've never seen her so reserved. She hardly speaks. That's not like her, and it scares me."

Regina's compassionate face was a welcome balm to Max. "Were I to hazard a guess, I would think it's a coping mechanism. You must know that she would hate to disappoint any of you." That Sam even theoretically thought that cut like a knife. Max focused on trying to breathe. Regina said, "And she still, very much, needs you. She's incredibly capable, and resilient, but have you ever met a person who didn't need their family?"

"What do I do?" Max didn't know how to help. Reality wasn't getting through to Jake. He was somewhere, off where she couldn't reach him, couldn't make him see reason, and Sam was so bruised and battered that Max just wanted to close her eyes and wish all of this away. She wanted to hug Sam, but she didn't know how to initiate touch again, after last night, when Sam had done everything but push her away in the kitchen. She didn't want to make the pain worse.

Regina did not provide an easy solution, "What do you think you should do?"

Max nodded, "I should go check on them." Maybe if she could see that they were safe in their beds, she could relax.

Regina's voice stopped her cold, "You mean they aren't awake?"

"Not to my knowledge, no." Max said quickly. The warm tones of her cabinets seemed overwhelming as she stared at them.

"Well, they're not..." Regina trailed off and Max knew that Luke was going to have to talk to Jake again. She tried not to jump to conclusions, but what else was she to think, as Regina had made it clear she had been looking for them both as a unit? Something had clearly shifted in their easy friendship, and sex was a natural outgrowth of that.

Nevertheless, Sam was not ready for that step, either physically or emotionally. She was sixteen. She was a child. She was not ready, in any way, shape, or form, for the emotional and physical realities of a sexual relationship. Neither was Jake. Despite his maturity in matters of work, he was very emotionally much younger than his age when it came to girls. Luke asserted that he was older, that he had matured too quickly, matured past the hormonally crazed phase, but Max knew that a boy was a boy. He wasn't ready for sex.

She wasn't ready for them to be ready.

Max turned around, and something caught out of the corner of her eye on the porch. She moved forward, and saw clearly, the couch that was catty-corner on the covered porch. The missing children, it seemed, really weren't missing at all. They had carved out a space for themselves there because no one would give them one inside. "Oh..." With that, she picked up a box of cookies, and turned to Regina, "Would you care for one?" The brand new box was demolished in the next two hours, and Max knew she was to blame for that, too.

 _Do you wake up on your own a_ _nd wonder where you are?_

_You live with all your faults_

_I wanna wake up where you are_

_I won't say anything at all_

_So why don't you slide?_

_Slide_ , The Goo Goo Dolls

The birds were alarmingly loud this morning, Jake thought, as a cacophony of avian noises seeped into his consciousness, pushing away a dream filled with sunshine and pillows. Mom's radio was playing in time with the slow thump of the heartbeat below him, and all was right with the world. He didn't even crack an eyelid as he turned his head and went back to sleep.

He woke again, an indeterminable time later. Facts hit him quickly. Him. Sam. Wicker Sofa. Porch. Daylight. Pleasure. His eyes fluttered open, and he shifted quickly. Sam stirred, and he realized that her left leg was hooked over his right leg, and her right arm was wrapped around him. Essentially, they were twined around each other like ivy, and he was undeniably aroused. His movement had caused Sam to shift with a soft snuffle against him.

Jake put two and two together. A soft, happy, cuddly Sam pressing herself against him, well, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. Jake tried to reason with his body, clenched his teeth and shifted away from Sam, trying to think wilting thoughts.  He thought about the events that had pulled them out to the porch last night, and he no longer had as much of a problem, not that he had much of one to begin with. Sam in pain, losing Sam, made him sick to his stomach, and his brain fired back up, looking for the stressor. 

Geez. Jake turned slightly, and a sleepy voice broke into his thoughts. "You might as well give up. I'm awake."

"Giv-Give up what?" He asked, realizing that Sam was smiling sleepily up at hm. Jake fought the urge to put his head back on her shoulder, and just lay there, like a cat soaking up the sun. She must have felt his hardness against her body, the softness of her diminished curves contrasting him sharply. She didn't look upset, didn't seem phased. Why? Wasn't he supposed to apologize? 

He wasn't sure he could pass this off as nothing, to her face. He knew very well it was normal, or well, normal in his crazy, messed up, way. Jake sighed. But. Well. They had never had this discussion before. Normally, he would have been embarrassed and loathed himself. And while he still did, he couldn't figure out a way out of this, one that didn't downplay something that was pretty rooted in emotion as something purely physical. One did not become physically aroused by their best friend, so if he admitted that this wasn't simply physical...  

What the hell was this, and what the fuck did it mean? 

"Trying to go back to sleep. It's well past..." She stuck out her hand, as he hastily stood, and Jake took her hand, and helped her to sit up, using his other arm to steady her as she was pulled up and turned, careful not to let her go too quickly. "What time is it?"

Jake picked up the robe they'd knocked onto the floor at some point. Handing it to her, he said, "No clue." He had a good idea, given the position of the sun, but he wasn't going to say until he knew.

Sam nodded, yawned, and slid to the edge of the couch, to push up. Jake tried not to let her know that he could see her nightdress bunch above her knees, for a myriad of reasons. Still, he couldn't tell if he was relieved when she extended her hand again, once she'd stood, to stop from wobbling around. It took her a few seconds, now, to get her feet under her, rather like a foal standing in a bed of fresh straw.

She nestled easily into him, and holding her was an instant flood of endorphins, and stress-relief. He was acutely aware of her proximity as they stood, barefooted, on the wooden porch, with the sun bright above them. Her eyes were clear and focused. Their clarity thrilled him, comforted him, because in the wide pools, all he saw was Sam. There was nothing sexual about this, and he was glad to take comfort in her nearness. 

"It's nearly nine." Regina said. Sam's wide eyes turned to her as Regina continued, "You're up. And a good thing, too. I was just about to wake y'all." She didn't need to say why. A schedule was a schedule, and not even the best sleep he'd gotten in weeks could deny it.

Sam found her voice, and spoke, the husky sleep induced timbre of her voice fading with each word. "Thanks, Regina."

_Wake up in the morning_

_See your sunrise, loves to go down_

_But did she make you cry?_

_Make you break down?_

_Shatter your illusions of love?_

_And now tell me, is it over now?_

_Do you know how to pick up the pieces and go home?_

_And go home?_

_Go home..._

_Gold Dust Woman_ , Fleetwood Mac

They made their way through the side door into the kitchen. Max was at the stove, stirring something or other Sam could not immediately identify. Sam's head felt clearer than it had in almost two days, and her mood was indicative of that fact. Still, given the conversation she and Jake had last night, she knew that Max wasn't too pleased with her.

Sam wasn't sure what to say, having missed breakfast and morning prayers by hours. Jake broke into her thoughts as he said, "Hey, Mom."

"Jake." Max replied, "Your brothers set aside some breakfast casserole for you."

As her back was turned to them, Sam caught Jake's expression. Max had clearly stressed his brothers role in the process. She did not know what to make of that fact.

"Oh." Jake said, as his brows lowered.

Sam was overjoyed to see Regina, as her neutral presence lifted some of the tension, which could be cut in the room with a knife. She felt naked and exposed, sitting here in her nightgown and robe. The kitchen fan clicked overhead in the silence. Regina looked to her plainly asking what she wanted to do, and Sam spoke, "I'll just go get dressed."

Jake looked at her askance, and shook his head. "You haven't eaten since dinner."

"I'll eat when I'm done." Sam tried for nonchalance. So what if it took her ages to dress herself, and was something of a workout in and of itself? Another half hour would make no difference next to the 15 hours that had passed. Max, turned down the stove, and turned to the walk-in pantry, all without sparing them a glance. Sam exhaled.

"Chocolate or Vanilla?" Jake's voice was muffled from the open fridge. There was large casserole dish on the counter, and he was clearly rooting around for the catchup. Gato wove around his feet, and Jake continued rummaging.

Sam really was intent on eating later. She was hungry, that was true, quite so, now that she thought about it, but said nothing. There were rules. You dressed, and then you ate. She could not flout convention, not in the face of Max's unyielding displeasure.

Jake fished bowls out of the cupboard as he demanded her attention, softly, kindly, but demanding all the same. "Sam."

"My choice." Sam replied, pushing up to her feet. Now that Max was out of the room, the tension hadn't abated, exactly, but she no longer felt like a bug under a microscope.

"You've got choices, lots of them." He said, easily, moving around the kitchen, "You can eat. You can drink your ensure. Or you can hold still while I start the line for the G-tube myself."

Sam shot him a look that said it all. On a lesser man, it would have melted the very flesh from his bones. She would never go back on a feeding tube again. The scar on her abdomen was reminder enough. She would eat, when she chose, and he could just shove it. No one would take those choices from her, not even him.

Jake just rocked back on his bare feet, and breezed along, "Strawberry, then?" The timer from the microwave cut him off, and Sam was glad she'd been mentally preparing for the beeping. She barely even reacted.

"I'm not drinking that swill." Still, she capitulated and took a bite from the bowl he set in front of her. "I really should ge-..."

Regina returned, and Sam knew that she'd been had. She hadn't even realized that Regina had left, to be honest. Regina passed her the bag in her hand. It was unassuming and should have held cosmetics. It was quilted and cute on the outside, but Sam knew that inside it contained unmitigated evil. Sam, even though she didn't partake of makeup, wished it did. She opened it with a resolute tug on the zipper pull.

 _Cos you feed me fables from your head_  
With violent words and empty threats  
And it's sick that all these battles are what keeps me satisfied

 _Love the Way You Lie_ , Skylar Grey

Elival. Beta Blockers. Sam got a perverse sense of satisfaction in lining up the pills in a row, before she took them. When she'd been transferred from the hospital to the rehab unit, she had felt a stirring of anger that the pills were more numerous, because now she could take dietary supplements as well as everything else orally. She could no longer delude herself, then, about the state of her brain. The numbers had decreased substantially, but taking them in order was now a habit. She was terrified that she'd forget or would OD. She didn't want to OD. It had taken a long time to admit it, but she didn't want to die. Living sometimes felt like so much work, but she wanted to feel things, somehow, someway, some day. She wanted to remember what it felt like to really live. Accidental OD wasn't something she wanted on her certificate of death. It was a valid fear, though.

After all, she had amnesia. She could not remember the days leading up to the accident, nor the first weeks after. On one hand, she knew that medically induced comas did that to people, but on the other, it was still something she worried about.

It took two tries to open the first bottle, to line up the twist and the pressing down, so that it would open, the sickly orange lid popping away to reveal a pile of chalky white pills. After pulling out the pill, she set it above her bowl, and set the pill bottle to the opposite side of her bowl. She repeated the process, methodically, until pills and supplements were lined up above her bowl, like tiny sentries.

After quickly counting the pills, she double checked the labels, and placed the bottles back in the bag. Once zipped, the bag was then moved to the other side of plate. The fact that the bag was on the left meant that the process was done. It would be put away, only to be repeated later. She sighed, staring at the pills above her bowl. Something was very wrong with what she saw, and Sam felt a stirring of panic, even as she distanced herself from it.

She picked up the first one in the row, and placed it in the third place, essentially switching the order in the row.

"Why do you have them in order like that?" Max asked, softly, from the counter facing the table. Her task was abandoned in front of her as she looked at Sam with something Sam couldn't read in her eyes. It looked like pain, and it looked like fear, but Sam knew that she was probably projecting her own emotions onto Max.

"Oh. Erm." Sam fumbled, shocked into forthrightness, "Two reasons, actually. You-You want to know?" It had taken her brain a moment to reply. She could feel Max's words registering inside her, and she could hear her brain shift tracks to reply, like the _click-click_ of a tape or record needle.

"If you want to tell me." Max replied, and Sam supposed she was hurt by the shock that could be easily heard in her voice.

"Yeah." Sam said, "I mean, sure. The first reason is so I don't forget. They make you come up with a way to remember what you take, when. This is my system. Other people use pillboxes, but I'm afraid-" Sam stopped talking for a nanosecond, and tried to smile, as she continued, "if I don't count them just before I take them...Well, I would-wouldn't trust..."

The pillboxes were scary, because Sam could forget what she had put in there between the time she filled them and the time she took your pills. She had done it once. She'd tossed the emptied pillbox down a trash chute and had sorted the pills back into the bottles.

Max interjected quickly, "And the other reason?"

Sam knew this reason was a bit silly. She knew it was obsessive and controlling, but it was what it was."That's a bit...well." Sam stopped, choking internally on words she couldn't get out. She looked to Jake. His expression said, "Breathe." and so she did.

"This one..." she picked up a pill carefully, hating the feel of it on her fingertips, "has a chalky coating, so I take it last, before I eat so I don't get the juice all chalky." In the early days, that had been enough to make her throw up.

In the rehab, she got one juice cup with each pill rotation, so Sam had to figure it out or her mouth would taste like pineapple and drugs, if she didn't suck up and ask for another juice. Sam had asked for nothing from them. She had asked for nothing. She ate what they put in front of her, sometimes, and did what they said, mostly, but she refused to ask for things.

Some nurse, though, had accidentally given her two one day, and she'd sipped at it, in retrospect, a touch too gratefully. Then next day, they'd asked her if she wanted one, or two apple juices. Sam had realized that she'd been set up. The delivery of the two hadn't been accidental, not at all.

In response, she said, "Three." She'd gotten three chilled apple juice boxes, without question, even if the woman had been surprised. Her smile had told Sam all she needed to know about their little plot. They thought they could turn her into a Guinea pig, well, no sir. She could do it right back, and she had. No, It had been a test on both ends.

Carefully, she set the pill down, and avoiding looking at everyone as she picked up another capsule, "This one needs a lot of liquid, so I take it first. The rest are just ordered that way out of habit. I put the ones that I'm almost done with a bit more forward, so that I don't get..." Sam searched for a word, "worried, when they're gone. It's...tra-" she broke off, and selected another word. You trained dogs, Sam thought, not yourself, "preparation."

Worried didn't cover it. It was not true worry. It was a clawing, obsessive fear that something had gone wrong, that she'd taken too much, or not taken enough of something. When she stopped taking one pill or added another, it took her days to calm down that she wasn't missing something. The first time she'd changed her pill count, Sam had gotten upset. Someone had asked her what was wrong, some well meaning nurse with too much emotion on her hands.

Why did she care? Sam had screamed that it wasn't fair, wasn't right, that she didn't care if she died, that nothing mattered, so why should they care if her medications were all messed up, because she didn't. That had been a lie, too. She cared. She cared too much. She didn't want to die, not then, not really.

Later that day, still vacillating wildly between apathy and rage, she'd said to Ella, "Do you know how easy it would be, just to steal a syringe in this place? Just to do it, just go?" Sam had hissed the words, even as she could not bear to think of the actions behind them.

Ella's round face had looked vaguely interested, "Is that your plan? I'd like to hear the specifics, then." The woman had set down her pen on her desk, tone light, like they were talking about  _The Office_ and not suicide.

Her attitude had angered Sam. She was trapped in this place, trapped in this hospital, with nothing but nurses, and idiots who blathered on about pop singers when their worlds were crumbling around them, with people who had nothing better to do than stick their noses in things that didn't concern them.

Her words had been hot, tense, "I know you want to hear it! I know, so you can lock me up! I know! Well, news flash, I haven't got a plan, Ella."

She hadn't. She had nothing, not even a way out of the hell her life had become. It made her furious. Her inability to do anything made her furious.

The woman had nodded. She had known all along that Sam wouldn't do it. "Involuntary psych holds are not at all my style, Sam." Blah. Blah. Blah from Dr. I'm here to listen, not judge.

Sam had had enough, "You'd do it if you had to." She'd seen it happen a time or two, in the ward. 

"Do I have to?" Ella, Sam realized, had been deadly serious as the clock had ticked behind her. "We can handle this, together, if we need to."

Sam didn't want the last thing she saw to be this horrible hospital or this godforsaken city. She'd thought it would have been better to die, outside, on her land, with the horse she had loved beyond all others. At least, then, that would have been bravery, dying for what you believed in, not the inability to cope. The pain inside of her was almost too much to handle. She knew suicide wasn't the coward's way out. She was a coward, and she couldn't do it.

"No." Sam had admitted finally, "No."

Sam had vowed, then to figure it out herself. She didn't mention suicide again, at least not directly. Somehow, she thought maybe Ella knew that she still thought about it. In any case, the nurses were careful with the needle kids and syringes from then on around her. The medical waste case had been removed, too, that day, from their room. She knew Ella was nothing but a blabbermouth.

 _So maybe I'm a masochist_  
I try to run but I don't wanna ever leave  
Til the walls are going up  
In smoke with all our memories

 _Love the Way You Lie,_  Skylar Grey

"Who came up with it?" Max asked, back in a kitchen so unlike Ella's contemporary office, that had been filed with windows as though to dispel the darkness that had bled forth from Sam's soul.

"I did." Sam said, after finding her words. She had stared at the bottles, at the tiny pill cups before them, for hours. She'd keep the cups, first as a visual reminder, then, as a tower, counting up the pills she'd taken, just to see how long it would take to reach some crazy number. Staring at the tower had made her head throb eventually, and so she'd dumped them all into Metrona's recycling bin. It had overflowed onto the floor.

Sometimes, she'd knock the medications back like it was no big deal, in handfuls of two or three or four pills at once. She had never mastered the art of dry swallowing pills, not like some of the people bragged they had. As she'd progressed, though, the ability to exert exacting control over her pills had become a necessity. It was a coping skill. "I'm going to take them now."

"Oh. Right." Max moved back, and in doing so, flashed a hesitant smile at Sam. "Trudy called this morning. She said she was hoping to catch you, but I said you'd call."

"I'll call. Maybe I'll..." Sam searched for words, "Maybe I'll stop by." Sam knew she wouldn't, though. It was false hope, a brightly uttered lie. Trudy's house had more stairs that the Capitol building, and Sam knew there was no way.

"What do you want to do, Sammy?" Max asked. Sam shot Jake a look. His brows crinkled a bit. She could hear his reply, as surely as if he'd spoken. He didn't care what they did. He probably wanted to go over to River Bend. She did.

"Regina?' Sam looked to the lady, "What are today's non-optionals?" Regina understood the question even though Max did not.

"Seeing as how you're home, I think you can make that call, Sam." The kindly lady looked up over her novel. "If you don't mind, I'll come along."

"Well!" Max was clearly forcing a cheerfulness she did not feel, "How would you like to see Jen, Regina? She's called twice." Max picked up a plate of cookies, and ate one. She offered them to Jake. He took the plate, and set it on the table, untouched.

Sam ate another bite of the casserole, because Jake was watching her. His brown eyes were heavy. Did he know something she didn't? She tilted her head, questioning him imperceptibly.

Jake shook his head slightly, a clearly defined gesture saying "I'll tell you later."

Sam chewed her bottom lip. Something in his face shifted, though Sam knew no one else could see it, and she knew he was telling her it was nothing bad. Max broke into the conversation just as Sam was about to ask if it was about her. "Sammy? What do you think?"

Sam looked at Max and found that both Max and Regina were staring at her. "Oh. I think...think that would be great. I'll go get dressed."

_You may tire of me as our December sun is setting_   
_'Cause I'm not who I used to be_   
_No longer easy on the eyes_   
_These wrinkles masterfully disguise_   
_The youthful boy below_   
_who turned your way and saw_   
_Something he was not looking for_   
_Both a beginning and an end_   
_But now he lives inside someone he does not recognize_   
_When he catches his reflection on accident_

_Brothers in a Hotel Bed,_ Death Cab for Cutie

Upstairs, Sam found that her bedroom was not as she remembered it in tiny ways, and it was freaky. Her room at the Ely's was actually a guest room, but she'd gotten it after Mama had died, and Dad had needed help with her.

So many memories were held within these walls. She had clothes here, and a double of her necessities here for much of her life because of it. Her room here was cozy, and it showed her ages and stages in a hodgepodge of stuff that meant too much to get rid of as she grew up. The bookcase still had some books in it that she hadn't touched in years for that very reason. Still, he room felt different. "Well..." Sam plopped on the bed, and looked at Regina, "Welcome to my lair."

"Your lair?" Regina said, curiously, the implications of having her own room at Three Ponies hit Regina. It wasn't a big deal, but Regina seemed like she was really thinking. Sam watched as Regina stood a Bryer horse Sam had knocked over coming into the room. Poor Regina probably had no idea that she was playing with a Grey Appaloosa mare. Sam had lost her foal, at one point. It was probably in the attic with some of their old toys, wondering where on earth its mother was.

"Quinn called it that growing up." Sam remembered that he had been cheesed that she'd gotten her own room in not one but two houses, and had concluded that she must be evil. Seth had said that every villain needed a lair, and the name had stuck. The boys had their rooms, but Sam had her lair. Calling it a lair also avoided discussing the fact that she had a bedroom here. It wasn't a bedroom. It was a lair where she slept, sometimes.

Hers was a blended family in the extreme, and explaining it could sometimes be complex, and even isolating. It was better to let Regina make whatever assumptions she might. 

"What would you like to wear?" Regina moved to the closet and pulled it open. Sam bit back a warning. It was too late. The closet that was stuffed full of her fabric stash had nearly swallowed Regina whole. "Well, you certainly have some choices."

"I'm sorry, Regina." Sam tried. She didn't want to say more, but Regina was clearly expecting a rationale, "They're not all clothes. Some of it is fabric. I used to sew."

Something in her voice probably made Regina pause, for she merely asked again what Sam would like to wear. Hanging neatly in the coset, Sam spied an embroidered blouse that she'd been working on for ages. Regina pulled it out, and Sam said, "Oh, that's not finished."

Regina looked at her askance, and turned. The shirt was complete, right down to the buttons. Sam didn't remember finishing it. Her mind stopped right when she set the sleeves in. There was nothing after that. It was a freaky feeling, and so she ignored the panic that came with it. Sam pulled open her suitcase with some effort and yanked out a pair of brick red denim capris. Sue had purchased these, but the choice wasn't completely awful, though it would have never in a million years been her choice. "There's a white t-shirt in the third drawer." Sam swallowed, "I think."

_I thought a thousand million things that I would never say this morning_

_Got too deep, but how deep is too deep?_

_Last night what we talked about_

_It made so much sense_

_But now the haze has ascended_

_It don't make no sense anymore_

_From the Ritz to the Rubble_ , The Arctic Monkeys

Darrell yammered on forever, just to tell him that their closing was today. He was half-angry at Darrell for sinking most of what they had into the flip, but it was done, and the house seemed workable. While Sam was upstairs, Jake cleaned up breakfast, got dressed, and tossed some clean clothes in the Scout. He wasn't about to do business in work clothes. Jake didn't cross paths with his mother, thankfully, because she looked like she wanted to say something, and he really did not care to hear it right now.

He was outside when Quinn called to him, "Where are you headed?"

"River Bend." He replied, shutting the gate after he made sure Sam's chair was still there, "Why?"

"No reason." Quinn rocked back on his feet, "I...handled Witch for you."

Guilt buzzed in his veins, as his brother appraised him, "Thanks."

"No sweat, really." Quinn promised, "Chip's cool with it. Siblings, and all."

"Yeah." Jake cleared his throat. The subtext was clear in his brother's words, in his unusually earnest expression. "Listen, Quinn..."

"This isn't a conversation we need to have now." His brother paused leaning against the Scout's bumper like they were talking about the whether, "I'll talk to Mom."

"Don't get in trouble for me." Jake shook his head, "This is my problem."

"Yeah, well. You're my problem, so your problems are my problems." Quinn corrected. Jake had heard that a million times before, but never before had it been used as an expression of support. He had never been more appreciative of his brother, who moved the discussion forward quickly, "Stop by after the closing so we can come see the flip. We all want to see it."

The screen door shut, and Quinn looked up, just as Jake did, see Sam walking out the door. She'd pushed her sleeves up, the paper thin cotton bunching easily. Jake was glad to see that she was slowly coming to terms with her body. The scrapes on her forearms were faded, though visible. He didn't like seeing her skin marred, because he knew the pain she endured from it.

Her gaze flew to Quinn's, though, and just like that, she pulled her sleeve down. He spoke, "Ready?"

She nodded, "Are you coming, too, Quinn?" Sam moved forward to stand on the top of the steps.

"Nah." Quinn shook his head, "I'm loafing. If you see Seth, I was shoveling this whole time, okay?"

Regina laughed, and gestured behind Quinn's left shoulder. "You'd best find a shovel, because here he comes." Seth was standing at the entry to the barn. He frowned, and pushed his glasses up.

With that, Quinn turned away, and whistled a tune.

Seth shook his head, across the yard.

Jake smiled.

Some things never changed. Until they did. 

Sam spoke to Regina, "Regina, would you please go get my gym bag? I think it's in my lair."

Regina nodded knowingly, and left them alone. Sam capitalized on the moment. "What's going on?"

"Closing, is all." Jake tried to explain how this was happening so quickly, "Apparently, Darrell put in an offer weeks ago. Did you get in touch with Jen?"

"Yeah." Sam was in front of him, again, placing her white keds on top of his boots. She boosted a tiny bit, as she continued, "She's coming over. We're going to do whatever. Are-Are you staying?"

Jake nodded, and placed a hand on her back. The sun was high and bright, and his skin was instantly warmed by the contact, and their location. "Until Darrell shows up. You could come with us."

She shook her head minutely, silent save for the grin that dominated her face. This was a discussion they'd had a hundred times, even before the accident.

"I want you to." Jake confessed. Sam appeared to be faltering, because he knew that she wanted to be with him, no matter how much closings bugged her, and Jake felt badly for being so honest about his desire to keep them together always. "But I won't push it."

Regina cleared her throat behind them, and Sam backed away. Jake felt the loss keenly. She whispered, "Thank you." like he'd given her a gift.

_It's a long, long road f_ _rom which there is no return._

_While we're on the way to there, w_ _hy not share?_

_He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother_ , Neil Diamond

After Jake met up with Darrell, the atmosphere inside River Bend seemed oppressive. Gram spoke to Regina, but not to her. Gram was distant. Not cold, but wary. It was a reaction Sam had garnered from a lot of people since the accident, but she hadn't expected it from her grandmother. Gram knew her better than anyone on the planet, but even she could not see beyond the accident, see that Sam was still Sam. There were no hugs, no offers of discussion over rose hip tea in the cozy kitchen. Sam sat on the couch, and patted Cougar, waiting for Jen.

Sam was terrified, and alone. She wished she had gone with Jake. She was terrified because there were so many little changes she was expected to remember. She remembered very little, it seemed. In San Francisco, there had been nothing to remember, no roots, no history to hold herself to, but here... Here, everywhere she looked there wee snippets of her past, and some resonated with her deeply. Other things evaded her.

The cat hopped away, going after a stream of sunlight on the carpet. He pounced on it, hoping to catch the sunshine between his paws. Sam's misery faded somewhat, as she laughed. Gram's voice called out from the kitchen, "Sam?"

She wasn't a mental patient. She wasn't laughing at things no one else could see. "I'm fine."

Her grandmother came into the living room, "Jen will be here, soon. I hope you've got something planned. It wouldn't do, just to sit on the couch with her."

Sam tried not to take offense at Gram's blunt words. She was only relying on the history of their get togethers. Sam and Jen always did something together, riding or barn work, or art, or sewing, something.

Sam didn't feel like doing something. She just wanted to sit with Jen, see her face, hear her voice in person for the first time in months. She wanted to hear how her relationship with Ryan was going. She wanted to hear about Jen, hear about things she knew she had no reason to be expected to know. "I know. What..." Sam began, and swallowed thickly, wishing she could overcome medications and work up salvia, "What do you suppose we should do?"

Gram looked shocked that Sam was asking her opinion. She was probably, Sam thought wryly, wondering how the heck she was supposed to know. "There's ice cream left over from dinner, the other night."

Sam nodded, understanding that it was an olive branch. "Okay. We'll do that."

Gram looked like she wanted to say something. Sam hoped she would. "You know where everything is, Sam." With a small smile, Gram excused herself, and went back to work. Sam watched the cat. It was only later, when she heard Silly arrive, that Sam understood that Gram's words were a vote of confidence.

_I know that I've got issues_

_But you're pretty messed up too._

_Either way I found out,_

_I'm nothing without you_

_My Life Would Suck Without You_ , Kelly Clarkson

The real estate office was always cold. Jake signed his name, signing away more money than he ever had before as his partner sat beside him. Closing had gone fairly easily, but Jake was always thrilled to get out there. Signing his name to a check it had taken four flips to earn the money for freaked him out, and for good reason. He took three dum-dums from the basket, shook the seller's hand, and left. Thank God his real estate agent knew better than to bug him.

In fact, he was helpful. Darrell called his brothers, and told them that they'd be there in a bit to pick them up. Darrell went on and on about the house, and Jake did his best to listen.

He wished he could have convinced Sam to come with him. She had, once or twice. The first time, the seller's agent had addressed her incorrectly. He had no way of knowing how old they were. Jake recalled looking around for his mother until he figured out why Sam was blushing. 

Darrell had teased her after they left the closing until Sam had threatened him with bodily harm. She always got fussy when people misunderstood their family dynamics. Darrell really should have known better than to rile her up. She was not his sister. She was Quinn's sister, Adam's sister, Seth's sister, Nate's sister, and even Kit's, but not his sister. The second time, she had declared that every closing was the same, even though that wasn't true, and that she was certain that the system wouldn't allow them to make too big a muck of it.

After all, she said, even Jake could sign his name. She'd even chased him around with a calligraphy pen to write it on his arm so he wouldn't forget. Jake had rolled his eyes, dodged the pen, and invested their money in yet another home. 

She had refused his invitations after that, even when he tried to bribe her with food. Maybe Grace would have food out when he got there. He was hungry.

_Wo-oh-oh, you're the apple of my eye, you're cherry pie_

_And oh you're, you're cake and ice cream_

_Oh you're sugar and spice, and everything nice_

_You're the girl of my, my, my, my, dreams_

_But if you wanted to leave me and roam_

_When you got back, I'd just say welcome home_

_'Cause honey nothing, nothing, nothing can ever change this love I have for you_

_Wo-oh-oh-oh..._

_Nothing Can Change This Love_ , Sam Cooke

Sam was on solid footing with this question. It was the same every time. "Jen, chocolate or vanilla?" Sam asked, with a smile, loving how different it felt to be the one asking the question. Their visit had started off well. So far, Sam couldn't detect any gaps in her memory, and she relaxed. Jen told stories of what had happened in her absence. They were small stories. Her broodiest hen had hatched the most adorable chicks. Silly had learned a new trick. Couples broke up, got back together.

Jen tapped her chin in mock concentration, setting out bowls for their typical buffet of ice cream. "Both."

The tupperware was already on the counter. Sam already had them in hand, knowing her answer, "Good choice."

"I rather thought so." Jen replied, dumping out a bowl of whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and homemade marshmallows from the fridge. She surveyed their repast, and tapped her chin critically. "Cookies?"

"Most definitely." Sam agreed moving to the cupboard, and looking around, "We're out of the chocolate chip. We've got sugar, and..." ignoring the rest of the homemade cookies, Sam grabbed the plastic container quickly.

"Hm?" Jen broke in excitedly, from next to Regina.

Sam breathed in as she tore off the lid of the washed out butter crock. "Chocolate covered peanut butter graham crackers."

Jen grinned, and took one for herself. Gram made these occasionally, and they were amazing. Gram made her own crackers and peanut butter. Sam was certain that she would make her own chocolate if a tree would fare well in the desert. "These are amazing." Sam spoke around the cracker in her mouth.

"You sound like Quinn..." Jen laughed, even as she took huge bites of her own cracker.

Sam shrugged in a very Quinn like manner, causing Jen to laugh as Sam faced her biggest challenge yet.

Sam tried to boost herself into the barstool. "Would you hold the chair down, Jen?" Regina was there, but she knew the drill. She couldn't help unless Sam asked her to do it, or Sam was unconscious. As she was currently neither, Regina stayed alert, but back.

The worst that would happen, Sam rationalized, is that she would fall. She knew how to do that. If only her brain would listen to her. 

Jen complied, looking over at Regina worriedly, "Shouldn't we eat somewhere else?"

"Ice cream," Sam declared, placing one foot on the bar of the stool, "is habitually eaten here." Implicit in her tone was a bit of hurt that Jen would look to Regina, and not to Sam to make that call. Regina didn't know how they ate ice cream. Sam did.

"Okay." Jen gave in, "What do you need?"

"Legs like yours." Sam replied, trying to soothe any hurt she may have caused by being so forceful. "Failing that, the ability to jump would be just...great." Sam huffed as her legs failed to boost her up.

"It's really tough finding long jeans." The chair was stable as Jen added, "Not to mention tops."

"Oh, cry me a river, Jen." Sam said with a smile. This was a familiar debate. "I haven't owned a pair of pants since 1997 that hasn't been hemmed."

Jen mouth made a mew as Sam scrambled and she thought, "Those jeans we found a few months ago fit perfectly."

"They did." Sam replied, staring at the chair. To her, it might as well be Mt. Kilimanjaro, but she would not give up. "Alright, once more. Then I give up, and get a step stool."

Sam worked up every ounce of focus she had. She blocked out noise, blocked out everything but the isolation of the muscles she knew she needed to make this work.

Next thing she knew, hands were around her waist, spreading warmth over her torso. The wide palms settled around her waist, and she knew who it was. Sam held back a a bit of a smile. "I'm trying to climb here."

"Impulse." Jake said, settling her into the seat. Sam understood. It wasn't really, but it was a get out of jail free card, like all the times she did things on impulse and was met not with confusion and recrimination, but with understanding and support.

Why was lifting her so easy for him? Sometimes, she hated that she was so much smaller, like when she had to take the time to fix the stirrups when they were working on case, or when he could simply take two steps and end up where she would be in two minutes, or how he could put away countless meals and still be a wall of rock solid muscle under her fingers. 

Maybe...there were some benefits. Like, uhm, Sam thought, getting cans off of shelves, and being boosted into chairs. 

Sam wanted to be annoyed, but Jake spoke silently, with a gentle touch and a quirked eyebrow.  _I never say please._ _  
_

He knew that she would have done it herself. He wasn't helping because she needed him to do it, but because he could. He was having one over on Gram, it seemed, whose glare seemed to imply something salacious about their activity.

Her bottom hit the chair. Sam could not find purchase. 

Sam started to slide, a bit, and Jake's body moved forward, steadied her by giving her no room to fall forward, providing a defined space for her senses to find their much needed equilibrium and balance. Sam's eyes fluttered shut as her brain took solace and reordered itself. Sam remembered asking him to do this, a time or two, and it was extremely pleasurable when it simply happened, when her mind took a breath of fresh air and relaxed. It was like a reset that made her relaxed and feel safe. 

Jake voice was in her ear. "Hook your feet, Brat."

He spoke softly, so as to allow her to save face in front of Jen, who was looking at them. Sam couldn't see her. She couldn't see much of anything besides Jake's broad body. Where was she supposed to put her feet?

She breathed in, and asked, "Where?"

Jake flicked a glance down, "The chair." Jake's hand was on her elbow as she complied, and swallowed. Sam opened her eyes, slowly, glad that she felt safer, more secure as her feet hit the bar on the chair, and her knees took up some of the weight Jake had been supporting. Sam pushed all of her weight through her knees to keep her calves from shaking. 

Jake knew her mouth was dry, and that it had nothing to do with him, but Jen read something into that unconscious action. Sam heard Jen run her fingers over the cross around her neck.

Gram folded a sheet with a heavy snap. That broke up the moment, and Sam grabbed the counter and began to turn. "This fabric is really slippery." She apologized, not to him, but to the room. She was trying to keep her word and not say sorry so much. It was tough, because, Sam realized, she said it a lot. 

"Hm." Jake stepped around the counter and towards the fridge.

Jen tried to catch her glance.

Darrell was staring at her like she had three heads.

Gram folded laundry with crisp snaps and precise movements.

Jake broke the silence, unusual as it was. "Do we have any moose tracks?"

Sam shook her head, "But there's some M&M's hidden above the stove."

Jake retrieved the candy, and threw some over a bowl of ice cream. He quirked an eyebrow.  _What's their problem?_

Sam bit her lip. She had no idea what it was, but whatever it was, Jen was dying to say something.  _Utterly no clue._ Sam couldn't help but wonder if she had done something wrong. 

She'd figure it out at some point, Sam reasoned, even if no one would clue her in to what she was supposedly missing. Jen's eyes were blown wide. Sam wondered blankly if her friend was high. 

 

_Why'd you come in here lookin' like that?_

_When you could stop traffic in a gunney sack_

_Why you're almost givin' me a heart attack!_

_When you waltz right in here lookin' like that?_

_Why'd you come in here lookin' like that?_

_Why'd You Come in Here_ , Dolly Parton

The house was small, for what they'd paid, Jake thought. It had been well made, though, with an eye to detail. There was a lot left over that could be refashioned and reused in the landscaping and the outside. From the outside, though, the house was, at best, moth eaten and worn. "Darrell..."

"She's a bueat." Darrell inhaled as they pushed open the door. "A real beaut. This one's going to put you through grad school, man." Darrell coughed as dust and who knows what else flew at them when the door opened.

"If she doesn't put me in the ground, first." Jake said, wincing at the water damage on the ceiling.

Darrell, never one to see details, raced ahead into the next room. "Jake! They left the kitchen!" Darrell called, "Can we use it?"

Crossing the rooms quickly, Jake looked over the cabinets, "If we sand them down, yeah." Jake made a mental note to needle Sam for an idea of what finish would be best. He had some idea, but she always came through with better ideas. No matter how much she said that she wanted no part of his business or his money, she could be relied upon to help him. Given that the backsplash was a fairly medium green, he figured a medium stain would go alright, "They're pretty sound."

They did the rest of the walk through before his brothers got there. Seth and Quinn rolled up, followed by Adam. Seth's glasses were folded in his pocket as he blinked, "So. What're you looking at?"

Jake surveyed the shag carpet under their feet, "Work. And money."

"70s nostalgia is cool." Darrell dragged his toe across the orange carpet and jumped a foot.

"Yeah." Quinn replied, stomping down hard. An audible crunch was heard, "But scorpions aren't."

Jake closed his eyes, and prayed. They might as well get started. Darrell should really be worried about putting a sledgehammer in his hands, though. He might miss an ugly bookshelf and swing at his head.

_I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed_

_Get along with the voices inside of my head_

_You're trying to save me, stop holding your breath_

_And you think I'm crazy, yeah, you think I'm crazy_

_Well, that's nothing_

_Well, that's nothing_

_The Monster_ , Eminem ft Rihanna

The trick to living, Sam found, was to embrace the pain, embrace the anger, sublimate it somehow, twist it from self-loathing and hate and rage into drive and grit. The blood would turn into sweat, the agony into determination. She had to pour herself out, even as she wanted to curl into a ball internally, to save herself from the pain, if she wanted to get anything back from it. But no, if she wanted to survive, she had to open herself wholly to the pain. She had to make friends with the darkness within herself.

She applied that lesson when Jen asked what they should do now that the ice cream was cleaned up. She put herself out there, opened herself, when she grinned, trying to hide fear, and said, "Hey, want to do some yoga?"

Jen nodded, and so they did. Sam tossed out her mat, and gestured for Jen to use it. The texture of the weave drove her mad. Jen smiled, sat down, crossed her legs, and said, "Om..." Sam cracked up.

Gram was ghosting around, observing, and talking to Regina as they sat in the kitchen.

Sam found something within herself, as she molded her body into various shapes, some with little success, some with much less ability, and tried not to care how she must look to Jen, who said she was fine with Sam doing whatever while they visited. The daily sessions were something she couldn't even opt out of, but Jen had seemed interested, and she had to let Jen in somehow. Maybe, Sam thought, maybe it would be easier to show her the things she could not bring herself to tell Jen.

Jen spoke, as Sam starting stretching, folding one leg inward and bending over, using the weight she put into the lean to stretch her aching muscles. "Can you believe Zee's shower is next week?"

Sam lost her balance, and plopped down to her side, "What?" The shower for the youth leader at church wasn't for months. Zee was barely showing.

"Sam. You planned the party. Don't-don't you remember?" Jen looked scared.

Sam was terrified, and she sat up deliberately. "Jen...what?"

"Sam." Jen dropped her voice in difference to Gram and Regina's chatting that flowed easily from the other room, "You did everything. You made the invitations and the favors. You even designed the cake. The theme is sweet peas. Remember?" Jen pleaded, "We all voted, and you drew this amazing pea pod, and we all laughed."

"No. It's gone." Sam gasped, as she dug through her memories. "The last thing I remember, Zee was showing. It was the week she bought that blue maternity dress. How long ago was that?"

"Five weeks...before, before..." Jen broke off, ashen.

"Before." Sam understood. Before the accident. "Well, tell me about it!" Sam tried to smile.

It worked. Jen was more at ease as she explained every detail of the shower. Jen chatted and Sam participated as Sam moved through her workout. Gram was there, watching, and Sam hoped their relationship was on an even keel as Gram floated in and out of the room.

Jen looked like she wanted to talk about something, but Gram's presence deterred her from it. As such, the conversation was light.

"Sam?" Jen asked, watching with wide eyes as Sam knotted a red theraband on the railing and yanked at it with all of her might. Satisfied that it would not budge, she replied.

"Yeah?" Sam hated that she was breathless after barely getting started. She had stretched, but now came the work. The stretches were mostly passive. This next bit was the real challenge, pushing her body just to see what she could make it do.

Jen moved up the stairs, turned, and sat, so that she was facing Sam, so that they could talk while she worked. "What does that do?"

"The theraband?" Sam asked, holding a stretch in her head for a count of five, twice, and letting go, "It's basically a resistance activity. I'm using my own weight, as well as the te-ten-ten" she paused, counted to three, and continued carefully, "tension to stretch and strengthen."

"Oh." Jen replied, brushing her fingers over a dark green band that Regina had thrown over the railing. "The different colors are...?"

"Difficulties. The darker the color, the tenser it is." Sam breathed, finally at ease with the left side, "Generally."

"What's the next part?" Jen asked, and Sam knew that her friend was truly interested. She could work from there. She could remember all of this. The fact that she was supposed to remember things she couldn't was surreal. It turned her stomach, and she felt incredibly violated in a way she couldn't explain. She was afraid. What else had happened that she couldn't remember?

 _I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell_  
I know, right now you can't tell  
But stay a while and maybe then you'll see  
A different side of me  
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired  
I know, right now you don't care  
But soon enough you're gonna think of me  
And how I used to be,

_Me._

_Unwell_ , Matchbox 20

The house was okay. It was okay. Darrell had done a good job. Jake was walking around, listening to the sounds of his brothers talking, when it happened. The  _thunk-thunk-whoop_  of chopper blades came out of nowhere. It hit him in the chest like a ton of bricks. It was a chopper.

A chopper.

Jake couldn't think past that point. He sank down against the wall, knees feeling like lead. His head spun as blue and red lights flashed before his eyes.

He knew he never should have left River Bend. Choppers were bad. He remembered the last time he'd seen one. Tony Erwin had been there, with his damn bagels. No, his mind was playing tricks. Tony hadn't had bagels then. The bagels had come after. The chopper above him made another pass, and the noise intensified.

 _Thunk. Thunk. Whoop._ Jake couldn't breathe.  _Whoop. Whoop. Thunk._

He was back there, in the moment. The room faded from around him, and he was standing, on the open range. The sky was bright, and the wind whipped around him. Sirens were screaming across the range as a chopper landed in one of the pastures. The noise was so overwhelming. Had he thrown up then? He didn't know, but his stomach was churning just as it had then.

He remembered everything, ever action, every feeling. He heard the noise of the chopper as he relieved every moment of those agonizing hours in a single second. Someone was holding him back, holding him down, as the chopper door slammed, then, and took off, leaving him, with blood on his hands. The indents in the grasses and scrub where it had landed looked as crushed as his soul.

_Thunk. Thunk. Whoop._

The blue and red lights swirled around him as another EMT touched him. He knew that guy. Justin. He had sat next to him in high school, had ridden in the back of the ambulance with him countless times. It didn't stop him from lashing out, pushing him away. He wasn't in shock. He wasn't the one who needed help. Just as he'd been about to speak, though, get away, do anything, do something, Quinn had been there. He couldn't stop reliving, couldn't stop the flashbacks, couldn't stop the terror coursing in his blood.

There was blood. Blood. Screaming. A gun. A gun. In his hands. His father was there, looking at him. 

There was so much pain, so much pain. 

It was going to happen again. 

There was blood everywhere.

Holy Christ, he was a murderer.

He had killed the one person he'd vowed to protect. He was supposed to die, if one on them had to go. Not her. How many times had he heard that? You are a man, you die for her, they said. You bleed and suffer so as to spare her every ounce of it, not because she's weak, but because she shouldn't have to suffer while you thrive. That's your job, they said.

She shouldn't have...she shouldn't have...he had failed the one person...

A hand was on his arm, "Jake?"

Where was he? Jake wrenched his arm away quickly. How had he gotten into this room? Where was he?

_Oh._

Adam was staring at him as reality flooded over him.

"I heard it, too. Jake. It was a rancher. It wasn't a life flight. It wasn't MedVac." His arms wrapped around his brother, who shuddered into his shirt, "Jake. It's okay, Buddy. I promise."

"It's...not..." Jake wheezed, "It'll never..."

"Hey, now." Adam said, "Sure it will. It already is. You're okay. You just need to breathe. Inhale some of the dust in this money pit, all right?"

"Adam..." Jake felt weak and stupid. Why had that happened?

Should he try to pull away from Adam? His brother, so much older than he was, had been there, always, during his childhood, to give him the attention he hadn't known he needed. Adam had been the brother that had known when he'd felt left out, who had sought him out with a toy and a little time, just for him. Adam had been kind of like a parent, in some ways, Jake knew.

"You're not too big to hug me." Adam instructed, modeling breathing somehow. "It'd be creepy if I sang the sunshine song, but I will if you want."

"Too old for this..." Jake asserted, trembling. He was too old to freak out over the littlest things. He wasn't a child.

Adam stepped back, and looked at him, ageless truth in his eyes, "You're never too old to love somebody, Jake, nor to talk it out."

Jake couldn't reply. Instead, he took the hand that Adam offered and pushed up, standing. "I think I'm going to pass out."

"I brought you some water." Adam passed him an open water bottle, "Drink it. We'll wrap this up, okay? Everyone else is outside."

Jake looked at his hands, half expecting to see blood there. Instead, he found only dust.

_I don't know how to live trough this hell_

_Woken up, I'm still locked in this shell_

_Frozen soul, frozen down to the core_

_Break the ice, I can't take anymore_

_Freezing, c_ _an't move at all_

_Screaming, c_ _an't hear my call_

_I am dying to live_

_Cry out_

_I'm trapped under the ice_

_Trapped Under Ice,_  Metallica

The water was so cold that it burned. The well water poured her fingers and face to ice, tightening the skin and giving her pink tinge, but it did nothing to lift the mental fog. Sam slumped against the sink, and felt her muscles strain.

Her eyes moved upward, to find the cracked tile that had been there for ages, looking for something that felt familiar and safe. Of course, it had been replaced, she thought with anger. It was only one more of a billion things she could not remember.

Sure, there were only tiny gaps, little things, nothing major, but they felt major. It felt like she was broken, a skipping CD. There was nothing that impeded her functioning insofar as memory loss, but the tiny gaps felt like needles under her fingernails.

She would be going along fine, talking to Jen or Gram, and some gap would come up. She hoped they could not see the panic she felt on her face.

It was all she could do not to toss something at the mirror, watch it shatter, and taken her wan reflection with it.

She was reduced to hiding in the bathroom because she couldn't deal. Her head was pounding, so she flipped the light switch off.

The room was plunged into darkness, but the fan was blessedly silent. Sam sat down on the toilet lid, and wished she could curl up into a ball. She was soon going to start sweating, as the bathroom was overly warm, but in the moment,

Sam didn't care.

She fisted her fingers in her cotton shirt, and wished like hell that making choices weren't so hard.

She just wished she could think. She wished she could reason. Instead, she was reduced to feeling. She couldn't even trust those perceptions though, because somehow the mind that couldn't think had enough power left to distort every feeling and perception that passed by her.

She was missing memories, missing parts of herself.

Terror surged within her. She could not remember planning this party. She could not remember making the invitations. She remembered none of it. The last thing she remembered, Zee had been showing but nowhere near ready for a shower, and now it seemed that she was seconds away from her time.

It was surreal and painful. Portions of her life that she had lived were gone from her, and she never knew it she would get them back. The doctors spoke of improvement, and not recovery. Sam guessed that those memories would never return to her.

She had been so high last night that the little changes at River Bend had escaped her noticed. She'd been high as a kite. She sensed that it had scared Gram to see her this way. Gram's defense mechanism had always been to either get depressed or lash out. She was lashing out, now, it seemed, because Sam was back. Still, Sam wondered what had happened the weeks leading up to the accident. Had something she'd done angered Gram?

Sam's left hip protested its position, and she stood. No, River Bend was different. She could see it now. The soft knock on the door made her jump. "Miss Sam?"

"I'm fine." Sam said, tonelessly. Maybe if she said it enough, she'd come to believe it. She didn't want to leave the bathroom. Here, there were limits, definitions. Out there, though, was a life that needed living, a best friend that needed answers to questions she was too scared to voice, and a grandmother Sam couldn't understand. There was one choice to be made, here in the bathroom. Open the door and face the unknown, or stay in here and melt away? Sam could not make that decision.

_And I'm gonna smile my best smile_

_And I'm gonna laugh like it's going out of style_

_Look into her eyes and pray that she don't see_

_That learning to live again is killing me_

_Learning to Live Again_ , Garth Brooks

An hour later, Jake was back at River Bend. Jen was gone. He was still a mess, internally, but Sam grinned at him and tension melted.

His heart stopped for a second. It was still heartbreaking to see her, again, when in some of the most vivid memories he had, she was gone.

With a glance at her grandmother, she pulled the left side of her mouth down. She wanted to get out of here.

He was only too happy to oblige.

She ended up sitting next to him in the swing at Three Ponies, gently rocking back and forth. After about 15 minutes, the tension bled from her body. 

Back under the tree, the swing creaked. "What's wrong, Jake?" Sam's words were soft. 

Had Sam really just asked him what was wrong?

Reaching in time with the swing, he grabbed a water bottle that fit in the twisted branches, and uncapped it as they drifted backwards. He swallowed more water. Adam insisted that he stay hydrated.

"Nothing." He cleared his throat, roughly, "I don't...I don't know..."

"Jake?" Sam whispered, threading her fingers through his. She knew he had something to say.

"I heard a chopper. I heard a chopper." He whispered, straining, "And I..."

Sam understood. Sam knew exactly how Jake was feeling.

You never knew when you were going to be gone. When you would leave your life behind. She had no way of knowing, the day of the accident, that she wouldn't come home, do her math homework, work with the horses, and clean her room. Her departure hadn't been planned.

She hadn't be prepared. She had no way of knowing what would be left unfinished. She didn't know, though, how it felt to not know if Jake were alive. She would swear on a stack of Bibles that she could feel him, somewhere, in the back of her brain, alive and well, if hurting. "I'm okay."

"I know, but I didn't _know_." Jake looked at her and the memories she saw rushing across his face knocked her through a loop, "I didn't. Because I came back to myself, and you weren't with me.." The water bottle slipped from his hand and landed on the ground with  a thunk. Sam flinched. He pulled his hat down, "I wish you had been."

"I'm sorry I scared you." Sam whispered, placing her hand on his arm, forcing him to look at her, "I'm sorry. But...Jake, I am going to go out, I am going to do things. So are you. We are going to live. This land...it's in my blood, and so is your work. We have to..."

"You want to talk about your blood?" He whispered harshly, "Fine. Let's talk about your blood. Your blood, spilling out of your head, in a torrent over the ground, blood dripping down IVs that doesn't belong to you, but it's inside of you, all the same. Your blood, staining our pillows. Me, waking up, night after night, feeling that blood on my hands, wondering why it turns my dreams into nightmares."

"Jake, you know that that..." Sam began. His words had chilled her, not because he knew, but because they rang with memories. She didn't remember getting blood transfusions. She didn't remember the accident. He did, though, and the memories were eating him alive. How she wished it was her who could recall every second of it, and not him.

Jake cut her off. "I know, Sam. I know that if that had..." He broke off, unable to finish, "They would have called Wyatt. And I wouldn't know."

Sam pressed herself tighter to him, unable to do anything but try and show him that she was alive, there, with him. "I wouldn't know. Just like I didn't know, when the nurse asked me if you had a DNR. You have no idea what that feels like, to wonder, if that last time I saw you...to not know what...what..."

She made a keening sound. She did, she did, she did. "I..."

"Sam." Jake brushed back her bangs as the swing came to a stop, tilting a bit, causing her to grab forcefully, "You were gone. And even though I knew...I didn't. I couldn't feel..." Jake inhaled. "I can't..."

"Can't..." He whispered brokenly, their gazes holding fast. "I can't..."

"Listen to me." Sam insisted, "Do you think for a second that I would leave you, just go? Just die? Listen. I would come back to you, somehow." That's all she had ever wanted, to be one with the people and places she loved, in spirit if not in body and mind. 

Jake said, lamely, "I don't believe in reincarnation." It was one point where their theologies greatly diverged. Sam held strongly to that old belief, that her soul had gone around the wheel countless times. He didn't. He said it made no sense, that they were who they were, not who they had been. Life wasn't playacting, he said. 

But today wasn't the time for a theological debate. Even if this was their one life together, she knew that it had nothing to do with anything else. 

"Who's talking about reincarnation?" Sam swore to him, "You would never let me die, not in any way that matters. I know that."  

Sam told him something she had never told Ella. "I'm not scared to die, Jake. I swear I'm not. Please, don't be scared to let me live. I want to, so much, but I won't live in fear. I won't let you live like that, either."

_Everybody's got a hungry heart, e_ _verybody's got a hungry heart_

_Lay down your money and you play your part_

_Everybody's got a hungry heart, e_ _verybody needs a place to rest_

_Everybody wants to have a home_

_Don't make no difference what nobody says, a_ _in't nobody like to be alone_

_Hungry Heart,_  Bruce Springsteen

The bugs buzzed and chirruped around them. Jake held onto Sam, who was silent.

They didn't need words for ages. The creaking of the swing and the sound of their breathing gave them time to process. 

She whispered into his chest, "I need to paint."

"Sam." Jake begged. He just wanted to hold her. This was sudden, though, and something he'd hoped for.

His grip loosened, and Jake wished he could read her mind.

Jake dug his feet in the dirt to hold the swing still, pulling it back so that Sam could find her feet. Sam stood, "Come with me." Jake stood, and stood close to her. They both knew the trek was a bit much for her, but she made it under her own power all the same.

They made their way to the barn, and up the flight of stairs to the apartment over the barn that Max used for storage and as a studio. Sam's canvases were untouched, unfinished, like they were waiting for her. She didn't go near them. Jake was shocked. Didn't she want to paint?

She was staring at him, though, and Jake wondered what was swirling in the deep pools that were her eyes. "I need the paints in the third drawer there. Will you get them?"

Mutely, he moved towards the drawer, "We need to talk." The paints were in dark cases, with silver words over the top. They weren't her usual paints.

Sam tossed off her T-shirt. Her tank-top over her bra clung to her as she heaved a breath, "Oh, we will." He read something in her tone that sent a shiver down his spine. What was going on here? Whatever it was, he wanted to know more. His pulse started to race. 

Sam said to Jake, "Sit in the middle of the couch."

"Sam..." Jake said, having seen her when he turned around, and handed her the paints. Clothes didn't need to come off just to talk, though it did take ages for the air conditioner to work in here.

Jake turned it on quickly.

"I swear, this is important." Sam said. "Would I ask otherwise?"

She grabbed a handful of brushes from the case on the desk, got a rag from the sink cabinet, and the water, carrying the bowl with wobbling hands.Jake wanted to watch her. Maybe she was going to do something Pollock-esque, and the paint was going to go all over, or something, and her fingers would smooth the paints into their hands and arms. 

Finally, she sat next to Jake. Her eyes were assessing, "Just...let's go with this okay?'

"Go with what?" Jake asked, a blush rising in his face, as Sam's hands found his shirtfront. The air shifted, and Jake wondered, if by rights, he should put his hand over hers, and talk about this, before the color of her eyes deepened even more, before the confidence and surety became trust and vulnerability. 

"You gave me an idea." She muttered, as if her to herself. His shirt fell open, and Jake watched as her chipped nails, her soft hands, smoothed down his stomach. Jake was pretty sure he'd run out of oxygen as her tongue darted out to dampen her lips as she slowed down, almost as if she were memorizing the very texture of his body. "Therapeutic technique in the book."

"The book?" He said, wondering if she meant some sort of Kama Sutra.

She read his gaze, far too well, and blushed. "Hardly. It's a book Ella gave me." Sam said. "I need you to take off your shirt."

Her hands fell away from his body, and Jake felt the scrape of her ragged nails as she drifted away. "Sam, we're going to get in trouble." He was down with whatever, but God, the fallout was going to be epic. He was never going to be able to hide his want of her now, not when she was being so open with him. 

He didn't want it to destroy what they were. He'd nearly done that once. 

Jake knew she wasn't asking for sex. She just wanted comfort. He couldn't give her the former, but every bit of the latter that he had within him was hers. She didn't even have to ask.

"That's your reaction." Sam was preparing her brushes, a curious look in her eyes, as she ran her fingers over the bristles. "You're not asking why?"

"Should I?" Jake pressed, in a tone that he knew would make her smile.

She gave a laugh. "Yes. But since you're chicken, I'll go first."

She pressed two fingers over her chest, and paused for a second. She frowned, and reached into the valley created by the swell of her chest. Before she undid the clasp, she blinked at him. _Is this okay?_

Jake put a steadying hand on her back. It wasn't the first time he'd been around when she'd done this. Normally, though, the lights were off, and he'd had to imagine what these sounds looked like, the unhooking of metal, the exhalation she always made when the band loosened around her body. Jake was transfixed as she watched her slide the straps of her shoulders, and slide her bra out from underneath her shirt, dropping it off of the couch just after he saw lace and wire. 

Jake could not believe the question that came out of his mouth. "How'd you figure out how to do that?" How had she gotten her bra off without showing one bit of skin that wasn't already exposed? How had she managed to use her elbows to tent her shirt, making the process so private, even with him staring at her, even with the soft blush on her skin? 

Sam looked at him like he was utterly stupid. Jake figured he probably was. He had wondered about it for ages. Sam replied, "Gym class." 

Jake accepted that response. He liked when he learned something new about Sam. He had been just about shocked, when sorting laundry, that she suddenly seemed to favor bits of lace. He didn't ask, though, because teasing each other about underpants had become old hat at about 11.  

Jake's mind went blank when she returned to her earlier task, pressing her hand over her heart. After a second more, she said, "Press your ear right here."

Jake looked at her. Was she insane? "I'm serious. You do it all the time in your sleep."

"I do?" He asked, letting her light touch guide his body. Sam ended propped up against the arm rest, holding him in the cradle of her body. When he relaxed, Jake understood why he ended up in this position a lot. She was incredibly soft, and her heartbeat filled his ear. Under his touch, her skin pebbled. 

Jake ran a hand over her side, wanting her to relax, so that she would feel what he was starting to feel as the steady thumping of her heart seeped into his bones. Her hip bone was covered by her jeans. 

Jake dipped his fingers underneath the waist as he soothed her skin. He felt very alive, like this, but very relaxed, listening to Sam breathe, and her heart beat. He swore he could feel her blood moving throughout her body. 

"Uh huh." Sam replied, threading her fingers in his hair, after a moment. One of her hands was in his hair, and the other was over his back, up on his neck, down over his back. Jake couldn't help but relax more, and as he relaxed, he found himself focusing on Sam, her heart, her voice, her scent. 

 "What we're doing, here, is matching. I've...only read about it. But..." Sam carefully breathed in, and Jake felt her lungs expand, felt her heart beat. "Feel that. My heartbeat is going to slow down...eventually..." Sam said, "All we're going to do, is match them. Your breath, my heartbeat. Together."

"Why?" Jake asked, because he needed to hear her say it. The fabric over her body did little to muffle the sound of her heart, and the feel of her body.

"So that you know. As long as you're breathing..." Sam trailed off, and Jake looked up at her. The moment was incredibly full between them. "I'm there."

Her heartbeat was in his ear. He could hear it, louder and stronger than the chopper. Slowly, he found that he could predict the beats. He matched his inhales, slowly, deeply, with her heart. 

Jake was putty in her hands, and he heard Sam's eyes flutter shut as she relaxed into the couch. Jake worried about her position, so he carefully slid the hand that was caressing her around her back, and whispered, "D'want to move?"

In response, Sam lifted up, and they slid down, so that her hair splayed out above her head that was now flat on the couch. The change in position was easily done, and it changed small, but important things about their interaction, their connection.  

 

"My God..." Jake breathed, against her skin, as Sam hooked her leg around his. 

"Shush." Sam instructed. "You're paying attention?"

"Hmm." Jake said, as they blended together again.

Time passed. He didn't know how long, but the room started to feel chilly, and Sam shivered.

Jake pulled her closer. The whole thing was incredibly comforting, incredibly intimate. Jake felt something shift in the air around them, now that they were relaxed and spaced out. Slowly, he felt himself responding elementally to her warmth. He didn't feel the pressing urge to do anything about it, or hasten the slowly building feelings along. 

Blissed out, content, trusting, Jake knew that everything was okay. 

After another few moments, Sam threw her hands up on his chest, and pushed him away.

Jake asked, "Your turn?"

"I've got..." She glanced at him. Jake read the question there.

"We have time." He promised. They'd make the time. 

He was thirty seconds from begging her to wait her turn. Jake inhaled, and somewhere in his mind, he swore he could feel the echoes of her heartbeat.The comfortable, knowing, trusting, feeling returned with that thought. 

"I know." Sam said, looking down. Her clothes were mussed, her hair was a mess, and she looked sleepy and relaxed. "I suck at meditative breathing."

"You do." Jake agreed. She had no skill with it whatsoever. Jake pulled her closer still, as they sat together.

"Hey!" She scolded him for his honesty, but not his touch.

Jake ran his fingers over her neck gently, feeling her pulse, as his grip came to rest lightly on the fine bones of her barely covered shoulders. Her head was too fragile as yet to press into. He wanted to please her, not hurt her. "This was your idea, Brat."

Jake walked her through breathing in time with his heart. He talked more than she had, simply because she shoved and arched against the sounds of his voice in his chest. After a time, he, too, was silent, preferring to run his fingers through her tangled hair and provide deep pressure touch. 

Sam nearly fell asleep after long moments of nothing but listening, and feeling.

Jake was humbled by that fact. She was safe. Jake inhaled. _Thunk. Thunk. Thump_.

Her heartbeat resounded within him. So was he.

_Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby_

_Edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley t_ _hrough the middle of my soul_

_At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet_

_And a freight train running through the m_ _iddle of my head_

_I'm on Fire,_  Bruce Springsteen

"Is this why you brought me up here?" Jake asked, ages later, when talking didn't feel like he was breaking up something sacred and holy.

"Uh huh." Sam's sleepy voice became deadly earnest, as she rested against his chest. Jake pressed, with big open hands, into her back. "You need to know I'll never...willingly leave you. If Dad makes me go back to Sue's, I want you to patch it up with him here. I want you to be happy."

"I can't do that, Sam." How could he patch it up with Wyatt like she was asking if he was there with her? He would never leave her side, never leave her arms, never let this moment become a thing of the past. 

"Will you trust me, and try?" Sam looked him over, and read something in his face. "Good."

"I want to do something." Sam whispered. She pulled away. Jake tensed. Sam tilted her head, rested her head against his shoulder, and inhaled.  _Thunk. Thunk. Thump._ He was okay. She was safe.

Jake let go slowly, as slowly as Sam pulled back. 

"Paint?" Jake asked, as she threw back the latches on the cases by their feet. 

"Yeah." Sam said, taking up a silver pencil with a colored tip. She looked at it critically.

"Where's your paper?" Jake asked, pushing up to get her some. Sam's hand, though gentle, forced him back in place. He sat next to her.

"Did you know some of the first papers were made out of skin?" With that, she pressed the tip of her pencil into his skin, over his heart. His heart began to race, and his blood pounded anew, no longer languid.

Inhale.  _Thunk Thunk Thump._ Again.

She made a few strokes, and frowned. Jake felt the light touch, and finally understood the difference between light touch and the deep pressure touches that Sam craved. These were mere hints, mere brushes, taunting and haunting him with what ought to be. Jake felt his stomach tighten. "Have you got a lighter?"

"What?" Jake blurted, lost in sensation of his breath and the memory of her heartbeat, as real as if he could still feel it. The swirl of 

"I need to warm this up." Sam frowned at the pen, and discarded it for a new one, after dipping the first one's tip in water. "Ugh."

Jake stuttered. "I think we're warm enough." He was really, really, warm. The air, despite the air conditioning running, was thick and full between them. Sam tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. 

"The pen, idiot." Sam grinned, holding him still with her other hand on his shoulder. 

He placed his lighter on the couch with shaking fingers. Sam took it, but couldn't get to work. Finally, Jake placed his hand over hers and flicked the lighter easily, a flame bursting forth from their mutual efforts. When it was lit, Sam held the tip of the pencil near the flame. After a second or two that stretched on forever, she removed the pen, and they let the flame go out.

Surprisingly, when the pencil hit his skin, it wasn't overly warm. It even felt cool. "Sam?" Jake blurted, as she drew far too quickly to make out what she was drawing.

"Impulse." She quirked a brow, asking for his consent, tossing pens about before he could see the colors.

"Mmh." Jake said. She had it.

"Good." Her tongue poked out between her teeth, as she tossed the pen behind her and grabbed up the smallest brush. "It's going to feel odd, maybe. Might feel a bit cold."

"Don't care." Jake whispered. It was odd to hear her heart, to feel it, every time he inhaled and exhaled, but he did, and it was amazing.

Odd, Jake decided, was the best thing ever.

Sam nodded, and they didn't speak, as she blended colors on his skin. "I'm using Aquacolor. It'll stay, for a while."

"Hmm." Jake whispered, "What are you painting?"

"Easier to show you..." Sam dodged giving an answer, "Than tell you."

Jake was silent, observing her. She shifted, and stretched, "I wish we had done this before the accident."

"Why?" Jake asked, curiously. He wished they had, too, just so he could have felt her, when she was so far away. He wished he could have known that she was alive then, like he knew now.

He thought about all of the times his heart and soul had cried out, wondering if she was really out there, somewhere, and he knew, that if he had some way of knowing, that if she had had some way of knowing that he would have torn apart the earth to find her, that maybe surviving until they found each other and could live again would have been easier. 

"So I could just..." Sam shifted more, and moved away, pressing him back into the couch and leaning over him. "get in the right position without worrying about falling over." She tilted her head, and continued. Jake tried not to think about her proximity. 

He could think of nothing else. He knew that this was a sacred moment between them. He felt rightness shimmering on her skin, rushing through his blood. He felt blessed by her, blessed by the Samishness of her, the part of her that sought to give and take with no sense of score between them. 

They lapsed into silence again, even though the room was loud with their breathing and the scrape of brushes. Jake ended up watching, transfixed, as her tank top became little more than a reflection of what she was doing to him. The golds and browns on her top and her fingers gave him some hints. The soft shine in the texture of the paints made her glow. 

Finally, the fruits of her labors were all around them. Palettes were open all around her, and brushes and sponges, along with pencils, scattered on the floor. "I'm done." Sam's breath tickled his ears.

He wondered how long he would feel her heart, "Want to see?" He prayed it would be forever. 

"More than anything." Jake pleaded. The air conditioner whirled in the silent room as they breathed.

"Hm. There's a mirror somewhere." Sam looked around.

Jake saw it first and pulled it off the shelf, surprised that he could even so much as move.

What he saw amazed him. Jake resisted the urge to brush his fingers over the most delicate strokes he'd even seen. Sam's skills had made a tapestry of golds, browns, and greens in thin but intricate lines over his skin. The shapes, he saw, formed small, almost invisible, letters, forming a larger shape. He couldn't read the letters, but the twisting strokes made a turtle.

"I know you'll wash it off, but I really, really...wanted to do that." Sam confessed. "I feel you, with me, all of the time, every time I close my eyes." She peered at him without artifice,  "I didn't realize you couldn't do the same. Now, maybe you will."

After a moment of staring at each other, Sam shook a can, "Hold still."

"What's that?" Jake asked. She had done all of this to...what? To give him the same measure of comfort that she seemed to find in him. When the realization hit him, Jake was nearly overwhelmed. 

"Setting spray. I also have a powder, but..." She trailed off.

"But...?" Jake asked. He needed her to talk, to tell him. Something in his blood responded to the sound of her voice, and he craved knowing all of her secrets. He had had no idea what flowed between their souls, no comprehension. But he could see it now, plainly, on his chest. He could see what he had always felt. 

"The spray lasts longer than the powder." Sam finished.

"Right." He nodded, slowly.

"Makes it so it won't fade." She whispered, her eyes wide and her hair mussed. Jake wanted to kiss her, he realized. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to see if he could taste the emotions between them that caused her skin to glow. 

Jake promised. "It won't." Nothing ever would change their relationship, or the way it manifested in their lives. 

"Even if you wait a long time to change it." Sam replied, and Jake heard the fullness of her awareness. She knew that, right now, pulling each other down onto the sofa and giving into the magic that was dancing around them was impossible. 

But they also knew the potential of it in their souls. It might lay dormant now, but maybe, Jake thought, it wouldn't always. Even he could not subvert the energy of the Universe, the light of the Devine that flickered between them, and he was sure, now, that he didn't want to try. 

"Even then." Jake promised, pulling on his shirt, "Even then."

_Said, woman, take it slow_

_It'll work itself out fine_

_All we need is just a little patience_

_Said, sugar, take it slow a_ _nd we come together fine_

_All we need is just a little patience_

_I sit here on the stairs 'c_ _ause I'd rather be alone_

_If I can't have you right now_ _I'll wait, dear_

_Sometimes I get so tense b_ _ut I can't speed up the time_

_Patience_ , Guns N' Roses

 Hours later, Sam still felt floaty, like she was occupying some new part of her brain, one that she had never paid attention to before. Endorphins, she reasoned, were the cause of it all. 

Adam bumped into her, as she got out plates. Sam hardly noticed it. "Where were you guys this afternoon?" 

Sam replied, "Painting." She counted out the places, and figured she needed three more plates. 

Adam mouth pulled, and his nose did that scrunchy thing that everyone swore she did. She didn't scrunch like he did, because it made his face all crinkly. "Painting?" 

Sam looked at him, and blinked. "Yeah." 

"Like..." He started to say something, but broke off. Sam didn't much care why. She wasn't in pain for the first time in a few days, and it was so nice. She was just happy. The house was loud, filled with life and people, but it didn't intrude on her carefully constructed bubble. She was aware, but not overly alert, and she felt like her reactions just might be more normal. 

"Just...be careful, okay?" Adam pressed. "I mean, just...Sammy. You...and Jake..." He was fumbling, clearly. 

Sam knew Jake was okay. She could feel his heart beating. He was in the barn, or out with Witch and his father, but she knew that he would come back. After all, the important parts of himself that he had entrusted to her hadn't really left. 

Sam nodded. She didn't even know what he was talking about. She'd had to lecture him about ventilation before, after all. "Don't forget the forks." 

With that, Sam took the plates to the dining room, steadying her wobbly hands as she cradled the plates to her chest. Her hoodie was warm and comfortable. Regina took the plates from her, and Sam turned around to go get the other other ones. 

Adam had the forks in his hands, and he spoke softly, "I know talking to Mom or Grace might be tough right now. Just remember who you've got in your corner, okay? No judgement, Samwich. I mean it." 

Sam smiled. It was a good thing she didn't play favorites, or the others might have a run for their money. "You're weird." 

"That's funny coming from you." Adam left the room. She heard what he hadn't said. 

_Love you too, Adds._

 

_Sister's using rouge and clear complexion soap_

_Brother's wearing beads and he smokes a lot of dope_

_The South moves North the North moves South a star is born a star burns out_

_The only thing that stays the same is everything changes everything changes_

_Time Marches On_ , Tracy Lawrence


	13. Numb

_Up where they walk_

_Up where they run_

_Up where they stay all day in the sun_

_Wandering free_

_Wish I could be_

_Part of that world_

_Part of Your World_ , Jodi Benson

The ache in her shoulders made her feel like her blood was pooling in her muscles. Sam didn't know where to put her head to compensate for the strain. She leaned forward and felt like she was going to pitch out of the chair. She leaned back and felt like she was going to tip over. Her body ached. 

None of that mattered, not really. She was sitting on the couch in the living room at River Bend. Dad was working, and Jake had been called home. Regina was with Max at some event, this being her off time. She was alone with Gram for the first time.

She could not find a comfortable spot to sit, and she shifted her weight. The cat protested by head butting her hand. At Cougar's mewl, Sam smiled. Silly cat, she thought, petting his fur.

Gram looked up from her knitting, "I could pull out the TV." Gram's voice was hopeful. Sam felt better about their relationship than she had since she'd come home. 

Sam didn't have the heart to tell her grandmother that activities she considered restful and indolent were actually taxing. Sam's mind spun after a small amount of TV. Sometimes, she'd make Jake turn it on, and put on some TV show he liked but would never admit to liking. She wouldn't watch it, though. She watched him.

"Sure." Sam agreed. Maybe the noise would help her to find peace, and stop Gram from looking at her with plain worry stark in her face.

According to Gram, she stared at walls. Sam knew that it was true. She did stare at walls. 

It seemed that after a few hours with Sam, she was coming to see things for what they were. Sam wanted to spare her that, wanted to shield those she loved because she could not protect herself from reality, but it seemed she could not. Maybe Gram would see things differently now. She could already see that Gram was softer with her, more like the Grandmother Sam loved.

Soon, Sam's favorite movie was playing.  _The Little Mermaid_  had always warmed part of her heart. She loved Sebastian, and identified with the King, a father who tried to keep his daughter away from dangerous things. Wild horses, Sam knew, were far more dangerous and far more fulfilling than gadgets and gizmos aplenty. Watching it now, however, made her see a whole other side to the movie.

It felt like scales had been ripped from her eyes. Ariel was an allegory for a person like her, longing to be a part of a world that was denied to her based on abilities. She was different, an outsider. She was Sam. There were parts of the film that made her feminist mind rage, but she tried to keep in mind that Ariel had made this choice. Why, though? 

 Ariel, though, had chosen her disability in the Prince's world. Maybe, Sam thought, ability was about context. Ariel was disabled in different ways depending on where she was. Sam could identify with that, though she knew that she was injured, and not disabled.

Sam didn't know, though how to process these emotions or what to do with them. She felt broken up inside, listening to Ariel yearn to be on equal footing in a world that shut her out. When she finally got there, she was at a disadvantage, literally voiceless and mocked because she approached the world differently, like when she used a fork as a dinglehopper.

There was so much in the film that resonated with her that she had never noticed before.

How blind she had been. Ariel's triumph over Ursula seemed hollow, now. Eric didn't accept her as a mermaid. He didn't love her as she was, and Sam didn't even know if he was capable of it. There was no joy. Ariel was ripped apart into two worlds, and neither one was her own.

Ariel sacrificed, no matter how willingly or blindly, her identity. She couldn't even be called little, or a mermaid, anymore. Her love for the prince outweighed any that he might ever feel for her.

Her power had been stripped, ripped away, taken from her though powers and circumstances that she had lost the ability to control or balance. In the sea, she had autonomy and power over her own body, her own voice, and her abilities. On land, she had love and social acceptance. Why couldn't she have both?

Ariel's experiences stayed with her for a long time, long after Gram turned off the credits and put a mug of hot tea next to her.

Ariel had her troubles, sure, outside of the whole sea/land problem. Ariel loved a man who didn't really understand her situation. Prince Eric could never identify with the struggles she faced, because Ariel hid them from him. Ariel presented herself as whole, at the end of the movie, rather than as her authentic self.

Sam, too, had tried to hide what she had become, what she was going through. It hadn't worked, not once, out of the many, many times she tried.

"Sam?" Gram asked, "You've been sitting there for ages. Do you want to come and help me make dinner?"

She wanted to move past the thoughts she couldn't excise. She wanted her Gram to love her again."I'm coming, Gram. Thanks." Sam pushed her feet into the carpet, put her nose over her toes, and stood. With a wince, and a bitten off cry, she sat down, hard.

"Sam?" Gram asked, crossing the room to assist her. She was concerned, and Sam hated her for it. It was easier to cope when Gram hated her. You didn't worry so much about protecting people who hated you.

Sam looked at her grandmother's face, and knew her thoughts were wrong. No matter how angry and hurt Gram was, it was clear as the look on her face that she didn't hate Sam. Sam searched for words. "Wasn't expecting that to hurt, is all." Sam replied. That hadn't been true. She knew it would hurt, she just wasn't expecting to react so visibly to the pain. "I'll be along."

"Do you need help?" Gram asked, looking at her earnestly.

"I'm fine." Sam said, frowning, "I'll come."

"You know, honey." Gram said, softly, "It's okay, not to be okay. It's alright to need people."

"I know." Everyone said that, though she didn't believe it. Sure, it was fine to need people, but she had nothing to offer in return. It was hardly fair to the people around her. "You can get started."

"I'll save you the fun parts, hm?" Gram smiled hesitantly, and left the room.

Sam stared out the window at the barn. Pepper waved as he dashed past the window, pushing a wheelbarrow. He returned moments later, riding Strawberry.

Part of your world, indeed, she thought tersely.

_My brother could use a little mercy now_

_He's a stranger to freedom_

_He's shackled to his fears and doubts_

_The pain that he lives in is a_ _lmost more than living will allow_

_I love my bother, and he could use some mercy now_

_Mercy Now_ , Mary Gauthier

The words left his mouth easily. "I'm not hungry." Great. Now, everyone was looking at him. Jake thought quickly, wondering what he'd missed. Sam's voice nudged forward in his mind, even as he felt a hand on his arm that he knew wasn't there, urging him to add, "I'm not hungry, thanks."

He felt her everywhere, inside of him, on his skin, in his blood, within his heartbeat, and those facts were the only things keeping him in his seat in the dining room. He heard her heartbeat, as he had for hours. The matching had caused something to break within him, something he'd been holding back from her, from himself, though he couldn't name it. It was there, though, as bright and vital as the connection between them.

"Do you want to die?" Quinn spat, tossing a spoon across the table at Jake, "Is that what you want?" The spoon landed on the floor with a clatter, the food that had been on it splattering on the floor around it.

Jake was about to speak, but Adam did it for him. Adam's expression was thunderous. His tone was plainly defensive. "Leave him alone."

"He owes us this. He owes me this!" Quinn said to Adam, "You have no idea! You weren't here! Were you?" Quinn said, "You showed up, and went back to your life! So you don't fucking get a say."  

Jake hated that he had hurt his brothers so badly. 

Quinn continued, "You weren't forced to watch your brother fade away. Don't you fucking dare tell me to leave him alone when the fact that I didn't is the only reason he didn't blow out his brains with a nail gun and leave me to find his brains splattered all over the wall."

"I was never..." Jake needed them to understand. He couldn't continue, telling them that he hadn't been suicidal. "I wouldn't have done..."

He had prayed for death, sure, but he would never end his own life. It was a small distinction, he knew, but it was there and he held fast to it in his darkest moments. He inhaled, and he swore he could still feel Sam's heartbeat, strong and steady. He exhaled, trying to find the words to explain, to make them see.

"Yeah, because passive suicide is much more your style." Quinn spat, cutting him off, "How many weeks do you think you have left, Jake? I'm sure Sam would want to pick out the floral arrangements."

The room erupted in noise. Hadn't it? No, Jake realized, that was his mind screaming. 

Everyone was staring at him in stunned silence.

Quinn's face was ashen when he started again, "I didn't mean that. I swear I didn't."

"I know." Jake's voice cracked, "Forget it." He wanted to forget the imagery and the emotions that Quinn's words had brought forth. He couldn't deal with the thought of it.

The ceiling fan spun in silence for another few seconds. "I don't think we should." Seth interjected slowly, "Let's everybody say exactly what they think, and then we'll pretend this discussion never happened."

"Why?" Jake said. That made no sense. Things happened. If he'd learned one thing, he'd learned that forgetting something that happened was impossible. One thing could and did shape everything that came after it. There was no hope of forgetting, and there was no prayer of changing the past.

"Because, Buddy. Everyone has questions they're too scared to ask." Seth replied, folding his napkin with precision.

Well, Jake thought angrily, if they were too scared to open their traps, it was their own faults. He had no patience for hedging, not when he knew there were things in this world a person couldn't hide from for long, no matter how much they tried. "I don't know what to tell you. It isn't my story to tell. Ask Sam."

"Jake..." Adam pleaded. The ceiling fan spun in the silence. Jake counted to ten, and tried to reply.

"Ask Sam." Finally, Jake spoke, "If she's...okay with it, we'll spill our guts for your amusement." He could not believe that some of his own brothers were no better than those people who had come with casseroles and bagels and patently false concern. 

Jake stood, and grabbed his hat, "I've got to go."

"Jake!" Quinn called, brokenly. Jake knew his brother was begging him, pleading, but Jake didn't have it in him to face this now.

"Dad's waiting." Jake headed for the door. Its shutting echoed in a silent kitchen. Still, the ceiling fan spun.

_No one round here's good at keeping their eyes closed_

_The sun's starting to light up when we're walking home_

_Tired little laughs, gold-lie promises, we'll always win at this_

_I don't ever think about death_

_It's alright if you do, it's fine_

_We gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselves_

_Roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes_

_Glory and Gore,_  Lorde

The pain washed over her like a blanket of needles pressing into her was nothing more than average, Sam tried to tell herself that, but it wasn't much working.

Dad sat down next to her, and Sam knew she had to speak. "I've..." She licked her lips, "Been thinking."

"I guess there's not much else to do, honey." Dad tried for empathy, but he didn't quite pass her muster. "How was your day?"

"Fi-" Sam broke off, "Alright." Sam thought over the the day, one that had been so transformative. She had her art back. Her art was back. She could see colors again. They were tinged by pain, marred by sorrow, but the colors she had used on Jake's skin stained her fingers and nails.

She stared at them, feeling as though some distant part of herself had clicked into place. The sea green that she'd used to dot the turtle's shell had stained her index finger. "Gram and I...watched a movie."

"Oh." Dad replied. Sam felt a stirring of guilt. Movies were taxing to her, but the symbolized lazy indulgence to Dad, who spent too much time working to even consider watching a movie because there was nothing else to do but stare at the wall some more and freak out Gram. T

he habit didn't bother Sam, but it clearly bothered Gram. She had fussed so, since Regina was out with Max at an art show.

Sam was grateful to Max for providing a solution to a sticky solution. Ditching Regina, as crass as it sounded, was the only thing keeping Sam's sanity intact. It had nothing to do with how much she had come to like Regina, to respect her. She was watched all the time, and one more pairs of eyes often set her over the edge. "...got that one heifer, a real funny one you know."

Sam realized that Dad was trying to share his work with her. Sam realized with the intensity of a hot iron that she had no idea what cow he was talking about. It was yet another thing she'd forgotten. It didn't do to let on, she decided. "Right..."

"Yeah, and Dallas..." Gram dropped a pot in the kitchen, and Sam jumped in the seat. Her flinch had not gone unnoticed by her father.

Sam frowned, "Sorry." Sam knew it looked worse than it was. It was a reaction because her brain couldn't judge the distance from the crash, nor modulate the noise appropriately. It never occurred to her, on a basic level, that whatever had created the noise wasn't going to fly into her and hurt her somehow. At least she no longer threw her hands over her head.

"Dinner!" Gram called, and Sam inhaled. Cougar wrapped himself around her ankles as she stood, and Sam wished with all of her might that Jake was there. She could feel his touch under her skin, his heartbeat next to hers, but really, all she wanted was to be near him, know that he was okay. She wanted to be around the only person she didn't have to explain herself to.

At the table, Sam wrestled internally to fight back a groan of annoyance. Gram had outdone herself. Why couldn't there be normal food, like vegetables and fruit? No, Gram was intent on making special foods, much like Max had done last night. Sam just wanted to go back to her normal diet, of homemade foods that didn't require hours to digest.

In San Francisco, she lived on canned soups and little else. She enjoyed butter crackers if pushing herself to actually eat. It was hard to come home to these special dishes. Jake cooked, though, better than she could right now. There, with him, she could make her voice known. She didn't have to do anything. But with Gram, she had to eat the meal she planned and cooked, even if the red meat looked like it would kill her.

"Sam, do you want a roll?" Gram asked, filling her plate with too much food. Sam had previously all of the food on the table, she just wasn't sure she could stomach it. Those meals felt like a lifetime ago.

"Okay." Sam replied, knowing that Gram would insist no matter what she said. There was a juice box in front of her plate. Sam picked it up and felt the flexible plastic on her fingers, along with the condensation. Sam pulled the yellow straw off of the front, glad that the plastic covering the straw separated as se did so. Taking the pouch in her hand, she put the straw over the dot on the top and pushed. The straw bent awkwardly, and she knew that she had not lined the straw up correctly to the dot.

"Sue mentioned you've been enjoying those." Gram said, hopefully. Sam could feel her gaze on her, and she knew that Gram had gone all the way to the store just to get these. She didn't care one way or the other about them. She didn't like them, but she didn't hate them, either. They were something the rehab people passed out, and something Sue had glommed onto. Still, it hurt Sam to know how hard Gram was trying.

"Uh hum." Sam said, absently, pushing the straw into the hole, just barely missing stabbing herself with it. Sam pulled away her fingers from the silver packet, and saw the inks on her fingers left behind. If only the marks on her body were all like that.

She could not help but think of Ariel, again, who bore no marks from her trials. Sam had marks and scrapes all over body, from the incisions on her head and stomach to the scrapes and stitches on her back and legs. None of these marks were things she had chosen, and yet, they were significant, much like the bruising that was now faint yellows and greens. She thought perhaps that Jake knew. She had tried to avoid a discussion of her body, not because...Well, because it bothered her.

All her life, they had told her that her body was her own, under her control. Her body was not a democracy. It was hers. The accident had ripped that away. She was no longer Empress, in many ways, she was servant to forces she couldn't control.

This afternoon, with the turtle, had been a rallying cry to take that back, a battle waged with ink and paint. She was the one making the marks now, not the hard earth and the scalpel. Jake hadn't minded. Heck, Sam realized that he probably thought it was pretty cool. Things had gotten pretty heavy, pretty emotionally raw between them as she'd drafted the turtle onto his skin.

_Le pido al cielo sólo un deseo_

_Que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir_

_He recorrido ya el mundo entero_

_y una cosa te vengo a decir_

_Viajé de Bahrein hasta Beirut_

_Fuí desde el norte hasta el polo sur_

_y no encontré ojos así_

_Como los que tienes tú_

_Ojos Asi_ , Shakira

Sam would never admit why she'd selected a turtle. She didn't want to be a mermaid. She wanted to be a turtle. She wanted Jake to be the shell. That's how she felt, sometimes, like they were two parts of a whole. She wanted to be able to curl up inside and let all the things that were rocking her world pass her by, contented to spend time in the cozy, confined space that was his care for her, the surety of the emotions she felt in his arms.

It wasn't rational, she knew, and Sam knew that she didn't need to hide. She was strong, but she never felt better than when she could feel Jake's heartbeat under her ear. She dreamed of it sometimes.

She would never tell Jake that the reason that she'd drawn on him like that had been a gesture of comfort, of reassurance. She felt him within her, always. Every second of every hour of every day, she felt him. He was with her always. She forgot that he couldn't feel her. She had forgotten that most people didn't have a portion of the brain labelled "Jake" that was solely devoted to the recollections of his touch, among a million other things.

Maybe, she thought, by giving him the turtle, she could approximate that portion of her brain on his body, so that he would have some way of recalling her, too, if in a more physical, temporal, manner.

"Sam?" Dad said, for what must have been the fifth time. Sam jerked her gaze away from the corner and looked at him.

"Wh-" She broke off. Gram's face was ashen, and Dad was plainly concerned. She had been staring off into space again, it seemed. She had only been thinking. She was fine, but they didn't think that. The atmosphere was oppressive with expectation.

"You were staring off into space, Sammy." Gram said, brokenly. The _again_ was implied, this time, and not said.

Sam snapped. "Don't you think I-?" She stopped when she saw the hurt unfold on Gram's face. It wasn't right to lash out. Ella's voice, lessons on relearning how to empathize and correctly modulate her emotions spun in Sam's brain. "Sorry. I don't mean to snap."

"Unexplained anger is a common symptom of TBIs." Dad said, like he were parroting the doctors. Sam clamped her mouth shut with such force that her teeth clattered and ground together. She did not want to scream at him. The worst part, though, was that even she knew that was a lie. She wanted to yell at the top of her voice, wrestle back some kind of control. What part of this was unexplained?

Sam stuck a fork in her potatoes, knuckles white with the pressure of her grip. How dare he presume to know what she was thinking or feeling, that she wasn't rational, or entitled to own what she was feeling? The accident had taken her body, but it had no right to her soul, mangled and blackened as it had become.

Dinner crawled. The dog didn't even come to her side to beg. Had he forgotten her, too? Gram and Dad mostly left her alone. Sam watched as the inks on her fingers bled into the napkin, onto the side of the silver juice pouch. She felt the loss, the connections, the choice of putting them there keenly. If there were only some way to make ink stay. Finally, she cut into the conversation with an impulse. "I want to get a tattoo."

"What?' Dad's suntanned face displayed blatant shock, "Absolutely not."

Gram was looking at her like she'd never seen her before.

"I just.." Sam trailed off, wanting nothing more than to assert autonomy over her own body. She tried to be calm, "Do you want to know why?"

Dad paused, as though he too had been expecting an outpouring of emotion rather than a rational response. If rehab had taught her anything, it had taught her that you had to hide and downplay what you really wanted if you wanted to get it. Passion and drive only got you so far, Sam had learned. It was reason, and the brainpower that really got you places.

Dad faltered, "I'm not going to change my mind, honey, but I'll listen."

"It's just..." Sam frowned. She made a choice to be as distant from this as she could be. "I have so many scars, so many marks on my body that I didn't put there. I didn't pick them, and my body is covered in them. I thought, you know, if I could cho-cho-"

"Choose." Gram supplied brightly. Why did every person on the plant think that sticking a word in her mouth helped her? If they already knew what she was going to say, why did she bother having a conversation with her? Gram did it enough this afternoon that Sam felt she had to make a point about it.

"Select." Sam picked another word on purpose. "If I could select a scar, you know, a mark that means something, put something on me that I picked, that would give me something..." Sam tried to shrug, but found it hurt, "It's just a thought. I just wanted something nice to look at." Sam couldn't bring herself to explain her lack of bodily autonomy.

"You have things to look at, lots of nice things." Gram said, appalled. Sam knew that she was approaching this like this was just another discussion of body image, like this was another time she'd complained about her hips or her thick legs. Sam looked down at her lap and wished she had those back.

"What, Gram?" Sam asked, "What, exactly? My hair? My skin? Certainly not my mind or my ability." She had not been able to shut away her emotions. Thinking about her chopped off hair and broken skin felt disgusting, like she was an alien in her own body, and the disconnect between her brain and her capabilities only compounded that feeling by a million and one. Sam sighed, "Just think about it."

"What would you get, Sam?" Dad asked, curiously.

"I..." Sam thought for a second never having thought they would get to this point in the discussion, "An animal, probably a butterfly, on my left hip bone." Sam looked at her plate, "I mean, you'd never see it." She almost fell into the sensations of Jake's fingers stroking her hip, her side. It was something she wanted to remember always. 

Gram nodded, "We'd never see it. So why do it?"

"Because..." Sam was really scrambling. The idea had been an impulse. It made sense, sure, but she had been throwing it out there, just to see what might happen. Her words were carefully measured, though, and she didn't think Gram or Dad could see her brain whirring internally to keep up "If people are going to be staring at me, I'd..." like to have a secret, still, feel... "It would just be nice to have something about my body that's still mine."

Gram started to speak, but Dad cut her off softly, "I'll consider it, Sam, but no promises. I don't want to hear any wild ideas about something crazy, like initials or something."

Sam frowned, not understanding where he was going. She hated tat her mind couldn't keep up with him, or with the look on Gram's face. "Why would I put my own name on my own body?"

"You wouldn't." Dad agreed, looking across the table to his mother with a measured glance. Sam knew she was missing something. "I just wanted to be sure..." Dad shook his head, "Your mother had a shamrock, you know. She always said luck would put her feet in the right direction, even if reason wouldn't. It was small, but so were her feet. I...I never had the courage. Needles."

"I've gotten over that." Sam tried to set him at ease, but she failed when her honesty was too blunt, "There's a lot you overcome when you don't have a choice, Dad."

 _Though the pressure's hard to take i_ _t's the only way I can escape_

 _It seems a heavy choice to make a_ _nd now I am under all_

_And it's breaking over me,_

_A thousand miles down to the sea bed_

_Found the place to rest my head_

_Never Let Me Go_ , Florence + the Machine

By the time dinner was over, Sam was aching even more from the pressure of the hardback chair. She slowly dried the silver, knowing with some shame that weeks ago, she could have put out the meal herself, and cleaned it in a snap. It was clear that Gram didn't really need her. She was given the job of drying the silverware because she was useless. Gram could have done it faster without dropping every third item.

The ache that had built up all afternoon, after tossing herself onto the floor in the studio and a grueling PT session. Sam pushed herself today just to prove to herself that she was able to do it, no matter where she was. It was on the list, a way to make sure Dad let her stay home.

It bit her in the behind, though. After all of the movement, sitting in the cushy sofa and the hardback shaker chair for dinner had slowly morphed into agony. Sam needed to shower. She needed to numb the pain. She needed to wake up. It was too early to sleep, and the defenses she'd built around her pain were crumbling. It would soon become clear on her face.

Sam ran her fingers over the tines of the fork, wondering if Ariel had ever felt truly comfortable with eating with one. Sam wondered if she kept one in her dressing set, to style her hair in the way that was authentic to her. Sam wondered if Ariel hid it from her husband, from those she loved. She wondered what Ariel's defense would be if Prince Eric caught her styling her red locks with a shrimp fork. Would he understand? Would he pass it off as a silly foible, and kiss her on the forehead? Or would he tell her hair looked best that way and buy her a fork just for her hair?

Sam sighed, "Gram, do you mi-mind if I take a bath?" Sam hated that she had to ask for permission in her own home to do something so simple.

"No, but Regina..." Gram wiped her hands on her apron.

Sam frowned, "I can do it. I'm fine. I just..."

Gram studied her face. Sam knew that this woman, the woman who had raised her, could see far too much of what she was trying her best to hide. Gram studied her, and Sam knew that beads of sweat were breaking out on her skin. Hiding pain was hard work. "Sure, honey. Yell if you need help."

Sam nodded and waited until Gram left the room. She needed to get the process underway before Gram realized that she really ought to be helping. The stairs were her first obstacle. But first, she needed massive amounts of ice. Sam waited until Gram left the kitchen and fumbled to the freezer. Gram always kept a bag of ice, there, always. It turned out that there were two bags today. Gram really had gone to the store. 

 She pulled one out of the freezer, and watched in horror as her torso was pulled forward with the force of the ice bag falling to the floor. How was she going to get the ice upstairs before it melted at this rate? The house was stifling and she needed to work fast. There were 22 steps and she had two bags of ice. Sam frowned. How did one eat an elephant? One bite at a time, with compromise. She would take only one bag of ice.

Sam pulled the ice toward the steps in the kitchen, knowing that if Jake caught her at this, he'd kill her. The ice baths were fairly common as she'd healed, and they weren't as worried about sending her into shock. Her status as a former athlete helped them select this method, but at the rehab, she hadn't been expected to use this method. They had specialized baths. Still, Sam knew how to make do and make it work.

The ice clattered down two stairs when she was in the middle of the stairwell, just when she thought she was going to lose her footing and fall down on the steps for the third time. "Sammy?" Dad called, from the living room. He was probably doing bills with Gram, and Sam had no desire to get involved in that process. It was always tense.

Sam looked at Cougar, and sent him a look of apology, "It was the cat!" The cat glared, and she whispered, "Sorry, kitty. Just..." Sam went up another step, and pulled the ice, careful not to let it thunk as she yanked up with her one hand. Her other hand kept a death grip on the railing. Thankfully, she wasn't strong enough to pull it out of the wall. "You're my help."

After a hundred more prayers, "Please God, please God, please God..." mixed in with various invectives, she was upstairs. She lugged the ice the short distance to the bathroom and flopped down on the toilet, face flushed and body trembling. The cat tilted his head. Sam knew the feeling. A few months ago, she would have not even thought twice about the ice, nor the stairs. Now, getting both accomplished had nearly pushed her to the point of passing out.

She kicked off her flats and looked at her toes. She knew they were going to hurt after this. They always did.

Sam had the sense to turn on the tap before she dumped the ice into the tub. She didn't have the guts to get in the tub of cold water and add the ice slowly. The noise it would have made would have been a clear tell to Jake. She didn't want him to know how much pain she was in, because this time, she had done it to herself. Sam inhaled when she remembered like a clap of thunder that Jake wasn't here.

Sam avoided looking at her naked self once she'd struggled out of her clothes. This body, this broken body, brought her such joy this morning. Now, it was something that tied her to pain and suffering that she had no way to describe. It was hard to take on the world when your biggest battle was your own body, Sam thought. 

Her legs were wobbly, her hips flared. They were boney, now, and not pleasantly rounded in a way that she had once thought of as fat. Her stomach was pale and drawn, and her chest, never particularly large, was small, overtaken by the boney expanse of her collarbone and her shoulders. Her arms and legs, short though they were, seemed to be all angles. 

Sam looked at her body, and wondered how it could possibly be hers. She'd shucked her bra ages ago, and had probably left it in the studio. Sam would make Jake go up there and get it tomorrow. She'd always hated bras, but now, now, she wished she still had reasons to need one. Before, when she'd rode, she had needed high impact support. Jen had always poked fun at the utility of her underthings. 

The tub was nearly full and all of the ice was added. She knew this needed to be fast. Sam turned the clock in the bathroom towards the tub more fully, and prayed anew. "Don't let me scream." Her tone shifted, and looked at the cat. "Don't let me scream."

The temperature she was going for wasn't that cold. It was Lake Huron cold, but the issue was mainly mental. It was a mental shock.

Sam grabbed onto the wall on the side of the tub as she sat on the edge of the tub and carefully lowered herself down, nearly banging her knee and slamming her backside into the tub's bottom as she did so.

The cold rushed through her like fire as the ice came into contact with her body, as the cold water surrounded her. She knew what she was doing, knew that this was safe, that her doctors knew, but it hurt. It was still a shock.

In for a penny, Sam thought, and dunked herself under the water. Thankfully, the water did swallow her scream. A chatter ran through her as she struggled to sit up, panic at the risk that doing this alone was only occurring to her for the millionth time.

Sam moved a bit, but that only let ice float closer to her body. She heard the therapist, telling her not to do too much, because moving water was colder water. Eventually, when the pain numbed she carefully lowered herself down to get her back and front into the water again. Runners had the luxury of only doing their legs, but not her. She could not help but give a weak yelp as the cold hit some more tender, healing skin.

This was mental, she told herself, a mental test to help her physically, and nothing more.

She tried to think about a warm towel, but that was sadistic. Her pale and broken body numbed, and Sam stared at the clock, trying not to tense. Finally, it was over, even though she'd gotten used to the cold by then. When she became used to the cold, she got scared and wanted to hurry up. It was if a switch, one that was dedicated to keeping her alive, flipped in her brain and reenforced what a bad idea this was on a purely primal level.

She scrambled, pulling the rubber plug in the tub. The chain that attached it felt like the pole in  _A Christmas Story_.

Sam pulled herself up to standing and lunged for the sink, which was within reach. Grabbing perilously onto the edge of the basin, she used her grip to leverage her right leg out of the tub. She tipped forward, but caught herself before she fell and tried again. The water was draining and that little bit of pressure pulling her in the opposite direction was just enough to throw Sam off.

She nearly fell again, but resisted the urge to ask for help. They would never understand. If she couldn't manage a bath, Dad would never let her come home. Eventually, she found herself out of the tub, clinging to the sink, praying she didn't slip and fall as she stepped off the bath mat towards the toilet. She still had no idea how she'd done it.

She sat down on the toilet, shuddering and spluttering. The toilet seemed to tilt forward. Sam sat there, for who known how long, wrapped in every towel she could reach.

Someone knocked on the door. "Sam?"

Gram's voice was concerned.

Sam looked at the clock and blanched further, "I'm sorry. Almost done."

Gram replied after a moment, "No! No, if it's helping, there's no rush. You should enjoy yourself. Did you use bubble bath?"

Sam tried not to sob. "It wasn't that kind of ba- bath, Gram. Would you bring me a nightgown?"

"Surely!" Gram replied, "I'll get you a nice and airy nightgown."

Great. Just what she needed. "And some really thick socks?" Sam tried to keep the whimper out of her voice as she felt the chill in her feet. Sam didn't even protest when Gram helped her downstairs.

Sam wrapped herself in a blanket, from the back of the couch and ignored Gram's look of concern as she chatted Sam's ear off about all the things going on in town. Carefully, she did not mention the horses or the ranch. Sam didn't know if she should thank her grandmother or be offended by the omission. She kept a death grip on her cell phone, resisting the urge to text Jake, or to call him. It was getting later, Sam knew, but she didn't know what she was doing, or where she was going or anything.

"Sammy, honey, don't you want to sleep?" Gram asked, a time later. "You've been sitting there for ages." Gram put down her knitting.

"I'm fine, Gram." Sam pushed her feet into the carpet, put her nose over her toes, and stood. Her muscles had locked up. She knew you were never, ever supposed to rush into a hot shower, but it had been long enough that Sam wished she had.

"Sam?" Gram asked. Her grandmother pushed her white braid over her shoulder and looked at Sam with pleading eyes.

"I'm just tired." Sam admitted. She stood, fully, this time, and made her way into the kitchen.

She reached into a cupboard, wincing at the discomfort, and pulled out a tea towel. Sam turned on the tap, and buried the rag under a deluge of hot water. The rush of water hurt her ears, more than she cared to admit, and the spray of water and the beads against her robe felt like needles. She was so achey, but at least she wasn't in pain as she had been, and at least she would be able to do her PT tomorrow.

"Sammy, can I help?" Gram fluttered next to her, clearly unsure what to do. Sam tried to squeeze out the water and nearly scalded her fingers. She needed to wait for it to cool, as using cold water to hasten the process was about the last thing she could bring herself to do.

"No." Sam bit out, "I'm fine."

It seemed that Gram was immune now to her declarations. "Sam..."

"I said no." Sam heaved a breath, and turned enough to look at her Grandmother, "Thank you."

She was close to being swept under the tiredness, and so, she shut off the tap, leaning against the sink, desperate to stretch out long enough to make the tired ache go away.

_You are taller than a mountain._

_Deeper than the sea._

_You are._

_Hold me._ _Hold me._

_Take me with you 'cause I'm lonely._

_You are fading further from me._

_Why don't you come home to me?_

_I am..._ _I am..._

_Cold._

_Hold Me,_ Weezer

Sam's heart raced as boots came up the back steps. Sam knew who ti was before the screen door shut behind him. Dad was out at the barn or somewhere on the wide expanse of the ranch, and besides, they were Jake's footfalls.

Her internal dialogue was going crazy. She felt like she had swallowed her tongue, so she did her best to avoid acknowledging his greeting to her or Gram. She was half afraid that all that would come out would be a squeak of some kind. How was it possible to miss him that much?

Sam tried not to show her relief as, wordlessly, half of her weight was easily absorbed against his side. They had something of a silent conversation.

Sam could not hide her pain from him.

He saw all of it, but there was no pity in his eyes. There never was. Jake took the rag from Sam, and asked, "Did you take anything?"

"I'm not an addict." Sam wanted to scream. The dangers of how easy it would be to get hooked had been drummed into her at Rehab. She had to wait for her evening pills. There were other pain medications she could take in the meantime, but she had other options that wouldn't require medication. She would take them first. She was terrified that she would change her brain even more, if she started to take more pills.

"Didn't say you were." Jake looked at her funnily, as though he was putting something together in his brain, and his brows furrowed.

Quietly, so Gram wouldn't overhear from where she was picking through beans for a meal tomorrow, "I...hurt."

Jake nodded, in reply to the brutally honest statement. "I know." Jake said, just as softly, hot rag in hand. "Come on." Sam tried not to be glad that he was here, not because there was finally someone who knew how to help her, someone who could make her feel safe, but because it was Jake who could do those things. She didn't have to explain anything to him.

Gram put something together as she looked at them. There was censure in her voice as she followed them into the living room. "Why didn't you ask for help, Sammy, if you needed it?"

"You don't exist to cater to my needs, Gram." Sam said baldly as she found herself directed into the couch's soft seat with firm hands. It was true. Gram clearly had her own things to do. It didn't mean that she should set aside everything in her own life to help Sam, no matter how much finally having it was a blessing.

She shook her head, "I'm sorry. That was harsh...but..."

"I'm sorry you felt odd asking." Gram replied, clearly covering up hurt as Sam allowed herself to relax into Jake's proximity. She didn't have to be on guard anymore. She could finally relax. He ignored the conversation, but Sam knew that he was listening, knew that he had something to say by the quirk of his eyebrow and the tilt of the left side of his mouth.

"I didn't." Sam swore. It wasn't that. It wasn't.

With Jake, though, she didn't have anything to prove. He didn't view her differently because she'd been hurt. He still snapped at her when she felt like arguing, still treated her with the respect that he always had. There was nothing to prove to Jake. He saw her. Sam knew he did. His evaluations weren't clouded by emotions. They were friends. With Jake, she didn't have to ask. She didn't know how to ask for help with sacrificing her selfhood.

Gram shouldn't have been shocked. She'd raised a cowgirl, even if Sam knew she wasn't one anymore.

Seconds later, she hissed as she tried to extend her left arm away from her body to balance. Luckily, her warm robe hid the frailness of her limbs from her grandmother. She had protested when Sam asked for the robe, but fetched it when she saw what the simple request was costing Sam. Jake heard the exhalation, and frowned. Sam tried to reassure him with a glance.

Gram switched tracks. "You could have asked Regina." The older woman was watching carefully as Jake sat down next her. He was carefully touching her, and Sam bit her lip. Was she really that chilled? It felt now like she was room temperature. She knew the ice bath had been a fairly easy, low key one, all told. She hadn't stayed in very long, and the water wasn't as cold as it could have been. She had limited her use of ice because she couldn't lug all of it upstairs. Some people used something like 40 or 50 pounds of ice. Some people could read or listen to music, but Sam hadn't yet developed that level of mental control.

"Gram, she's off." Sam bit out. Couldn't Gram see that she was busy here?

Jake was so warm, even just the touch of his fingers, and she was so very unwarm, "Life doesn't stop at 5:15." No one ever understood how hard it was to structure your entire life around someone else's workday, like she was robot that suddenly stopped living at the stroke of five. It was one of the many reasons she hated having nurses like Edye. They never understood that she had a life, too, pathetic as it was, after they left. Edye never asked what she did in the evenings, not that Sam would tell her even if she did. She inhaled, and exhaled quickly.

"Sam." Jake took control of the situation, "Breathe in, would you?" He'd phrased it calmly, but Gram overreacted, obviously worried about her lungs. Her brows bunched. Jake didn't see it, though he must have inferred it through Sam's expression.

He mouthed, "Ask for a drink."

Sam didn't bother to ask why she was supposed to do that, "Gra-Gram, may I have a drink, please?"

Jake frowned when she tripped over her words, but Gram nodded as though she was glad to have something to do, "Jake?" Sam looked at him. He was looking at her, studying her. His warm brown eyes were pools of surety.

Sam pulled her eyes away from Jake's as Gram repeated with a touch of exasperation, "Jake? Lemonade?"

He cleared his throat quickly, "Sure. Thanks."

Gram turned away to the kitchen, and opened the freezer, "You'll have to do without ice. I could have sworn I had an open bag." She continued puttering around the kitchen, and brought the drinks out quickly. Sam knew that they were being watched, even as she left the room again, probably to see what Dad was up to at this hour.

Jake lowered his voice, "Did you take a shower, after?" He knew the process, too. He was a runner, and while he'd never used ice baths, he knew plenty of people who did. Sam tried not to think about the warmth that was spreading through her as he looked at her.

Sam shook her head, "I can't come up with a good reason. I do feel better." The amount of water she would need would have been a real drain on the well. The blanket and robe would do well enough as she was fully capable of warming herself up. A hot shower was a last ditch effort.

Jake passed her the towel that was finally cool enough to touch. Sam luxuriated in the damp heat on her hands. "How's your head?"

Her head was swimming, but she was tired. She was tired of keeping up her defenses for so long. She just wanted to float away, go back to that space in her head that told her that Jake was there, and that she was safe. Sam bit her lip. "Feels like a slushy."

"Really?" Jake pressed. Sam knew that the sort of lingering brain freeze was a real issue, and not something to fool with. If her head was hurting like that, she would have gotten in the shower, done something, anything to stave it off. She would have given in to one of the million and five urges to call Jake, beg him to come home. He was the one person she had in life, who she didn't have to tell things, explain the emotions she couldn't even identify. She knew that he knew. He was, in many ways, her best friend.

She wouldn't ever discount what she had with Jen, but the two relationships sometimes felt so different. Jen would be okay, no matter what happened to her.

She didn't know about Jake. Sometimes, she worried about who would take care of him, as silly as it sounded, if there was no one around to haul him out of his shell. She really berated herself for worrying. He had done well enough without her, she knew, and he would have done okay if she hadn't come home. Still, it was hard to sleep unless she knew he would be there when she woke up. Sam leaned into the warmth of his touch and pushed away a comfortable, drowsy feeling that welled up underneath the layers of chill.

"No." Sam shook her head, feeling better already, less tight and rigid, "I'm just chilly."

Jake took in her movements critically, "And tense." He seemed to be making up his mind about something this time. He glanced at the door behind them, quickly. Sam used the brief reprieve to speak. He stood, easily, unfolding his long limbs from the sofa. Sam unconsciously reached out to steady herself against him as he moved away.

"You try spending 10 minutes in an ice bath and-" Sam squeaked as Jake put a hand on the back of her head, and slowly helped her put her feet up on on the opposite end of the couch, "Jake, we're going to get caught."

"I thought that was my line." Jake's expression sobered quickly, "Do you want this?"

Yes. She did. Gram was clearly in the laundry room. She could heard the thunk of the washer as she finished a load and started another. They had a few minutes. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Jake studied her for a second, and pressed lightly on the back of her calf. The warmth from his hands exploded on her skin. His touch felt like starbursts as he kneaded her muscles, pushing firmly but never painfully. It was meant to relax her muscles and give her body a deeper sense of awareness. 

It never, ever felt like this when a therapists did it, though Sam knew that Jake was just using the training he'd picked up from Kyla. Sam bit back an inarticulate sound. Jake saw it, because he saw everything. "Wipe that smirk off of your smug face."

Jake's only reply was to wrap his intensely warm fingers around her frozen ankles, and squeeze, rubbing gently.

Sam did moan then, the sound slipping out before she could control it.

His smirk grew, and Sam's stomach flipped. 

 

_I'm standing at the crossroads in life a_ _nd I don't know where to go_

_What we are and what we ain't_

_What we can and what we cain't_

_Does it really matter?_

_Now I lay me down to sleep_

_And pray the Lord my soul to keep_

_If i die before I wake, feed Jake_

_My best friend right through it all_

_If i die before I wake, feed Jake_

_Feed Jake, Pirates of the Mississippi_

Jake's heart rate slowed, and raced, in tandem. He didn't even know that that was possible. He wouldn't have believed it, if it hadn't been his own experience. He hesitated to get involved when Grace and Sam were working through whatever they were working through. They were talking though, making progress. Sam could not see that behind Grace's fear, her worry, was an unshakable caring. Grace was just having trouble extending it, and Sam was having trouble accepting it.

It was a bad situation all around them. He hadn't understood the context, until he'd touched Sam, and felt the ambient chill of her skin, underneath that ratty robe she loved. She'd made herself an ice bath. He knew that the time they had alone was running out. He wasn't dumb. He knew that Grace would watch them like a hawk after some chickens, if she wasn't already.

He wasn't sure, though, what their options were. He needed to help her warm up. He needed to hold her. He urged, "Better sit correctly."

Sam sighed, and he wished there was some way to capture the soft sound between them, "Yeah."

Jake thought back through his day. It was a dizzying whirl of emotion. He felt solid, for the first time in hours. She was... 

Their time was up. Grace was approaching them.

Jake decided that it didn't matter. Sam needed him, wanted him, and he knew that he needed her. Grace could say what she liked about their choices. 

"What did you do?" Jake tugged the blanket off of her, and gathered her up. Sam leaned back into him, and Jake felt wholly himself for the first time in hours. Sam yanked the quilt out of his grasp and wrapped it around herself. Jake wrapped her up more firmly into a hug, and Sam sighed. 

Sam quirked an eyebrow as she settled into his embrace, "Watched  _The Little Mermaid_ and took a bath. Ate, too. You?" She'd eaten, then. He wasn't that hungry. Dad had forced a granola bar into his hand. He'd eaten it, so Dad would have one less thing to say to him. Once he'd heard, somehow, that he was avoiding his brothers for a legitimate reason, a breadth of work that had been denied him for months had opened up again.

"Got in a fight with Quinn." Jake admitted, quietly, as Grace was within in eye line, though he doubted she could hear what they were saying. It was easier to say that they had argued rather than saying Quinn had hurt him emotionally. "Then...I don't know." He didn't want to tell her that he'd been with Witch. He would not pour salt in the very wounds he had caused, wounds he would try to help her heal until they day he died, "There was work."

"There's always work." Sam said, soothing away his worry with her frank words, "What'd Quinn say?"

"He wants to know." Jake said, not bothering to explain what Sam understood. "I said it was your choice." It was her story, her body, her life.

"What do you think?" Sam asked, wiggling her toes. Grace was still watching them. He caught Sam's gaze, then, and tried to convey his confusion. He didn't reply. He didn't know what he thought. Of course, Sam saw everything.

"After church?" Sam offered, "We'll roll with it. Are you okay with that?"

Was he okay with that? This wasn't about him. Everyone tried to make this about him, and it really wasn't. Dad wanted to talk. His father! Who never said an unnecessary word, wanted him to spill his guts, too. "They don't need to be told anything you don't want to know."

Jake heard the shift in her voice. She had held out as long as she could. "Hm." Sam smiled lazily up at him, "I'm tired, Jake."

"Sleep." Jake said, softly. It wasn't a command, but a promise. She could let go, and he'd catch her, if she needed it.

"You'll leave." Sam whispered, brokenly. There was real fear in her voice.

Jake shook his head. "I'll wake you first."

Only then did Sam allow herself to fall asleep. It was nearly instantaneous in her exhaustion. How much had she done this afternoon?

Jake pushed her bangs out of her eyes, forgetting where they were. He looked up, then, at some sound that Grace made. She was in the doorway, unsure what to say, clearly. "She's thankful to you, you know that, right?"

Jake ignored the panic that rose within him as he realized that Grace had overheard the tail end of their discussion. She was likely to put some spin on things that wasn't really there.

It felt imperative that he help Gram to see that Sam really was happy to be around her grandmother. She was just dealing with so much that no one would ever be able to understand, unless they were in Sam's shoes. Sam had built her walls. It was his job, their jobs, his mind corrected, to defend and respect those boundaries until if and when Sam didn't want them anymore.

Grace's voice was toneless, "I don't know what I think, anymore." She sat down in the chair, and began to fold laundry. Jake tried to let on that he he saw her hands shaking, and that he understood where she was coming from. There were just some things you didn't say. 

_'Cause every time I try to talk to you_

_I end up feeling so confused_

_Like you can't hear a word I'm saying_

_When I'm trying to be close to you_

_I'm having trouble getting through_

_I can't stand it, it's so tragic_

_I feel static between us_

_Static_ , Everlife

Sam woke up when she was lifted up, and pressed against Jake's chest again. The blanket pulled, and dragged on the floor. "'ake?"

Her father was speaking, but in her barely awake haze, Sam couldn't make out his words. He stopped speaking when she did, though. "Sam." He said, "You need to wake up and take your pills."

Sam jumped, as Jake headed upstairs. Her senses were spinning, and not even Jake's proximity could help her. Her eyes cracked open, "'ime is it?"

Jake turned into her bedroom as he spoke, "Not that late, but..."

Her father spoke from behind Jake, cutting off his soft words, "I'm sure Luke's wondering where you are, Jake." Dad's tone was funny. Why would Luke care where Jake was, when he clearly knew that wherever they were, they were together?

Sam looked at Jake as he deposited her on her bed and passed her her bag of pills. She pulled out the pills and swallowed them with a bottle of water Dad passed her. There was a look on his face that Sam couldn't place.

Why was he looking at her so intently? She shot Jake a look. 

He shrugged, with a slight blink. 

Sam thought for a second. _What?_

Jake looked at her bed. 

Ah. Daddy wanted Jake gone. They weren't being left alone. It was on purpose.

Sam felt like screaming. They were all so worried about something that wasn't happening. She was adult enough to fight for her life, to make medical decisions that no 16 year old should ever have to make, but suddenly, she wasn't old enough to manage her own body? She wasn't stupid. She couldn't handle walking a flight of stairs, how did they suppose she was even up to handling the gentlest of exertions? She couldn't tie her shoes, and they were worried about her having some kind of lurid sex with Jake. 

Jeez. Priorities, much? 

Sam flicked a glance at the flower pot on the windowsill, hoping Jake would get the message. _Flowers! Flowers!_

He didn't appear to get it, and she couldn't be too obvious, or Dad would get it, too. Sam was fighting against the urge to sleep.  _Look at my flowers, you stupid idiot!_

She lost the battle against the sandman when Jake parked himself on the edge of her bed, and said, "...when she falls..." God, his touch was... 

_He knew his place, it was right beside her_

_Step by step up to her world_

_Head over heels for a brown-eyed girl_

_And getting caught didn't seem to matter_

_'Cause heaven was waitin' at the top of Jacob's ladder_

_Jacob's Ladder_ , Mark Wills

He was doing it again risking everything on one choice. For once, Jake would not make a choice because it was the best one. He would make the choice he wanted to make. Maybe listening to that part of himself would keep them together when all of his other choices had not. He found himself brushing past Quinn as he headed downstairs. "...Jake!"

Jake hefted his backpack. "Quinn. We're okay." He didn't have to keep trying to talk to him. Whatever needed to be said would be said tomorrow.

"We're not." Quinn replied, "I hurt you." Why was this time any different? That's what siblings did. They knew what buttons to push to get a reaction, when to do it and when to back off. Quinn might have forgotten that lesson, but Jake knew that the contrite tone to his brother's voice was honest. "How can I make this right?"

There was nothing. Nothing would ever make any of this right. Jake grabbed his car keys, settling on a task that would allow Quinn to move forward. Sometimes, no amount of words could get through to any of them. "Cover for me."

Quinn nodded, and turned up the steps. Jake decided to let Witch to her well earned rest and take the truck. No one saw or paid attention as he pulled up to the edge of River Bend.

He avoided a sleeping Blaise, who merely cracked an eye and went back to sleep when he saw it was just Jake. Jake lifted the flowerpot and felt around for the key in the darkness. Jake went onto the porch, and found the flowerpot. Lifting it gently, he felt around in the darkness for the hidden key. 

 _Fuck._ It wasn't there. Jake tilted the pot, and pulled out his cell phone to check the dirt and the plate that the decorative pot rested upon. Nothing. 

It wasn't there. He'd seen Sam's hint in her room, picked up on it easily, but they both would have had no way of knowing that the key wouldn't be there. What was going on?

Jake thought it was crazy that Wyatt locked the door at River Bend, but if he recalled correctly, it was something that Aunt Lou had insisted on, after having grown up like she had, where locked doors were the rule. Jake realized that Wyatt kept up the practice for his wife, and understood, then, for the first time why the unorthodox process was important to the man.

Still, the lack of key put a cramp in their well practiced process. He wouldn't be able to get inside that way, but then again, he couldn't count on Sam on meeting him in the living room to go see the wild horses, either. Jake sighed and made quick work of heading around the side of the house.

He could not believe that they were reduced to this. Hadn't he sworn to her that he would never do this again? It wasn't as bad as rocks in the window, though. The glow of Jake's phone stood out starkly in the night as he typed, _"You up?"_

Sam's reply was instantaneous, " _Yes. Why?"_ Jake sighed, knowing that her sleep probably had been brief, if non-exist. He tucked his phone away without replying, and reached out, towards the tree.

Knowing what he needed to, Jake found a foothold at the base of the tree. He ignored his phone's buzzing as he sought out another branch. It was easier to do than it had been years ago. Some part of him took joy in being bigger and stronger, now, even if he was out of practice. 

Jake knew the hard part would be making it from the sturdy tree to the window. He was thankful it was summer, and the branches were solid. He continued climbing, making easy work of it. His backpack eventually became an issue, though, and he started tossing it up ahead of him, using the branches as holders.

His concentration was broken as Sam whispered harshly, "What are you doing?"

Good, Jake thought, she'd opened the window. She hadn't forgotten how this worked, either. Jake slid towards her. "Thanks for getting the window."

"We have doors, you know." Sam replied, backing away. He kept his eyes on her as he made the leap from the solid footing of the tree branch to the windowsill.

Jake hooked one foot through the window, "Locked ones." Jake hooked one foot through the window, "I couldn't find the key in the flowerpot."

Sam blinked.  _You honestly climbed..._

 _Don't make something out of it._ Jake blinked.

Sam blinked again, as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "And so you climbed a tree?" Jake swung his other foot through, and passed his backpack to Sam. Thinking better of it, he took it back. She wasn't supposed to be lifting heavy things, and he had church clothes and his Bible in that bag.

Jake sat down at her desk chair and yanked off his shoes, brushing away the sticks that had caught on them from the tree. "I'm tired."

Sam smothered a smile, "So we're not going out?" She looked down at her bare feet, and Jake tried not to let his gaze follow her eyes.

"Do you wa-" Jake broke off, realizing that she was kidding. "Funny."

"I thought it was." Sam smiled into his shoulder, as they found their spaces in the tiny bed. Jake couldn't help but laugh. It had been some time since he'd been in this room when the bed was unmade and it surprised him to see that Sam still had pink and purple flowers on her sheets. Her covers were dark green and blues, quilts that weren't so obviously selected ten years ago. Sam, in fact, had made these quilts herself, with a little help from Grace. 

"Shh!" She whispered, "You're going to get us caught." The tiny twin bed was hardly big enough for the both of them to sleep side by side, so Jake did what he could to make more space. Sam scooted closer to the wall, and turned over to face him, pulling her nightgown with her. 

He shifted to his right and looked in her direction. "You mean I'm going to get you caught, Brat." Still, his tone was much more relaxed, teasing. They were together again.

She shoved her way up the bed, almost jabbing him with her elbows in the process. "Yeah, yeah, now move over." 

Jake did as she asked, wondering how on earth they were going to manage, "We're too old to share this bed, Brat." Sam was half-on top of him, and it wasn't very comfortable. 

"Not so! Move your leg." She kicked at his leg, sighing when he hooked it over hers. Jake wanted to bottle the sound.

"I've got to roll over." He groused, "It's after midnight."

"Shh!" They shifted around until they both had a decent position. The bed squeaked as Sam ended up practically underneath him, a position which met his requirement for sleeping on his stomach, and hers, well, for being a bed hog.

"Dad is going to wake up, Jerk!" Sam hissed, pressing herself more fully into her portion of the covers. His body tented them over her, but she still pulled them up so they were nearly over their heads.

"Not my fault your nightgown is all twisted up." He returned, trying to remove the wide skirt from being wrapped around his legs. Tugging, his hand skimmed her knee, and finally wrapped loosely around her waist.

"Just shut up. I'm tired." Sam replied, crossly, burrowing into him.

_You tie yourself to the tracks a_ _nd there isn't no going back_

_And it's wrong, wrong, wrong b_ _ut we'll do it anyway 'cause we love a bit of trouble_

_Are you pulling her from a burning building o_ _r throwing her to the sharks?_

_Can only hope that the ending is a pleasurable as the start_

_Balaclava_ , Arctic Monkeys

The light shifted into Jake's eyes, waking him up. The alarm had another ten minutes yet. Sam's arm was thrown over his back, her body curled into his. He shifted, hoping he could get up quickly, without her realizing it. He really needed to get out of here before Wyatt caught on. It didn't matter, though, with her chest pressed into his torso and her soft exhalations making their presence known under his ear. 

Sam was so warm, though, and the floor would be cold, he knew. Her hair looked a bit like stuck pasta, and her brow was furrowed in sleep. He wanted to make those lines go away. She looked...like her, dreaming up some scheme. 

Jake closed his eyes again. That was his first mistake, he understood. His second was nearly letting it happen again.

He felt sleep coming over him just as he heard a voice that sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins.

Grace knocked on the door, "Sammy! It's time to get up for church."

Sam arched into him, mumbling. Jake took matters into his own hands before Grace opened the door and found him here. He ran his toes along her feet, a foolproof way to wake Sam up.

Sam's familiar, fuzzy, happy to see you sleepy expression shifted when Grace knocked again, "Sam, are you alright?"

"Fine!" Sam blurted quickly, "I'm awake." She sat up, and tried to climb over Jake to get out of the tiny bed. Her nightgown caught, and she yanked before they both fell out of the bed. This was not the best position to be discovered in. Sam's limbs, in her clumsy efforts to untangle them, had only made the contact worse.

Jake shot her a harried look. He turned and helped her to sit as she rushed to her closet. "We overslept!" Sam hissed, as he Gram turned away from the door. Her balance was wobbly, so Jake reached out and steadied her until she nodded that she was alright.

"Please get dressed, Sam." Gram said, "Uh, do you need help?"

Sam's eyebrows rose to comical proportions, "No! I'm just fine."

Jake tried not to laugh. Sam glared at him. "It's not funny!"

He thought it was. The look on her face, man...

"What's not funny, Sammy?" Grace asked, scant feet away, one closed door separating them from scandal and anger.

"I...have nothing to wear, is all." Sam was rushing around like a whirling top, grabbing a blue sundress that Sue had given her.

Jake didn't dare move until he heard Grace's footfalls fading away. He counted to ten and spoke, " _Mornin_ '." Sam's mouth snapped shut, and a blush creeped along hher cheekbones. Well, now...this was interesting, wasn't it? Very interesting. 

He tried to be easy, but the look she shot him made the effort comical. He lost it. Laughter bloomed within his chest. 

She exhaled when she heard the water of the shower being turned on. Grace was clearly bathing.

She started to laugh, and Jake smiled. "We nearly got caught. You want to risk going to the downstairs bathroom?"

Jake nodded, after considering if he should just exit the way he came in. If he could get down there, he could dress and make like he'd just gotten here. He didn't feel one bit bad about the falsehood, not if it made Sam smile like she currently was. "Later, Brat."

Jake shut the door behind him and heard the thunk of a shoe hitting the door.

 _Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes a_ _nd found my cleanest dirty shirt_

_Then I washed my face and combed my hair_

_Stumbled down the stairs to meet the day a_ _nd caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken_

 _And oh it took me back to somethin' t_ _hat I'd lost somewhere, somehow along the way_

 _Sunday Morning Coming Down_ , Johnny Cash

 


	14. I'll Think of a Reason Later

_Lead me not into temptation_

_Heaven help me to be strong_

_I can fight all that I'm feeling b_ _ut I can't do it alone_

_Help me break this spell that I'm under_

_Guide my feet and hold me tight_

_Ten Thousand Angels_ , Mindy McCreedy

Sam shifted in the truck, hating the dress she'd tossed on, hating that her hair was the way it was, hating that she was focusing on the little things that didn't really matter because she couldn't face the real worries within her heart. These people, the people feet away in the white building, loved her then. They had understood her, and she had felt safe there. That wasn't the case anymore.

She and Jake were parked outside of the church, with Regina in tow. She'd been baptized here, been confirmed here, played in the cavernous basement with the very man who was looking at her with compassion on his face. She would have sooner undergone surgery without any pain medication than walk in there, now. She knew what was going to happen.

Sam gripped her Bible, "Quinn skipped."

"And Mom's going to lay into him later, Sam. Everybody's..." Jake didn't know what to say, Sam knew. He was fumbling with his words, so she looked up and met his eyes. The words he could not speak were expressed clearly there. She knew that she had to do this, had to walk in there with her head held high.

"Ready?" Sam faked an expression, a semblance of a smile. Jake looked at her, chiding her that she'd even tried to lie like that, to him.

Jake put the keys in the glovebox. Regina jumped out of the car quickly. Sitting in silence for so long had obviously gotten to her. They'd arrived about twenty minutes ago, parked out of the way, and watched. Sam was shocked at how easily other people's lives just moved on. She didn't fault them. They weren't her family or something, but still, it was amazing to think that the church and the people she loved could so easily move forward without her. Sam knew it was foolish, dumb, to think that the world wouldn't move on without her, but the changes even in this unchanging place seemed huge.

As they entered the church, Sam stayed closer than totally necessary to Jake, trying not to make it obvious.Everyone was in the sanctuary, thankfully, or most everyone. Sam didn't have the heart to tell anybody that her feet still hurt. It would pass. She thought maybe that some part of her wanted to stick close to Jake.

Sam shot Jake a look as they rounded the corner towards the nave, as the piano swelled in clear announcement that they needed to get to their seats. Jake started to move up the center aisle, but Sam tugged slightly, and headed down the side aisle to the family pew. How had he forgotten that she was there?

As Sam moved past, she felt it the second she'd been spotted. Mrs. Becton, who seemed to know everyone and everything looked at her like she couldn't quite place her. Then, even as Sam just tried to make her way to the pew, the woman realized that she was who she was. How could she not, Sam thought, with Jake behind her? Instantly, the awareness that she was being stared at by a whole crop of people roared through Sam like wildfire. She knew she was bright red.

The voluntary was nearly over as she slid awkwardly into the pew, trying to make enough room for both Regina and Jake. The voluntary finished as the room swelled with noise. She bumped roughly into Gram, who could not move over more than another slot because Dad was there, and the Brinkley's were on the other side of Dad, as they always were. Regina sat down quickly, and Sam's gaze flew to Jake's as Gram pressed a hymnbook into her. She was really sorry. If only she had listened to Gram and gotten here early, she would have managed to make this work. She hadn't wanted to, though, because she knew people would have questions she couldn't answered.

The piano shifted as the service began. Sam glanced quickly at Gram, who shook her head, and kept her eyes forward. When she looked up, Jake was cutting quickly across the main aisle towards the opposite side of the aisle. Quickly, Max slid over and let him in. Sam tried to remember that things were the way they always were. Frankly, it sucked about as much as the eyes boring into the back of her skull. So much for not making any scenes.

The hymn of praise went by quickly, because Sam was relived that the pastor had not mentioned her presence in the joys and concerns prayers. She was glad that her name had been omitted, though Sam saw it on the list. The list was a list of congregants to pray for. While growing up, they'd always been tasked with praying for them, and picking one person to send a card or do something for them in their time of need. So, she'd done a lot of yard work and dishes in her time. She was glad to do it, but was equally glad that the pastor hadn't read her name that was printed on the list. It was scary to see herself listed amongst the people she'd been raised to feel bad for.

Next came the confession of her sins, some of which had turned her soul to the blackest of charcoal. She was sorry that she wasn't strong enough. She was sorry that half the time, she wanted to scream and yell, put this behind her, even as she wanted to let herself be lost within all that her body was experiencing. She couldn't bring herself to be sorry that she was angry at Dad, who could've moved over more, angry that he saw her as some child, and yet, as someone who had to fight an injury alone but couldn't be expected to know that sex wasn't the best choice. It was like he saw her as some weak-willed weeping willow. What did he think he raised?

She knew that she needed to make things right with Gram, open up more. Gram was trying, and Sam needed to meet her there. Sam got lost in her thoughts, thinking about how awkward this morning had been for her, and how supportive that Gram's presence had been.

_You get a line I'll get a pole_

_We'll go fishin' in the crawfish hole_

_Five card poker on Saturday night_

_Church on Sunday morning_

_Boondocks_ , Little Big Town

She had been nervous long after Jake had slipped away. There was no yelling, no discovery, so Sam tried to still her racing heart. Sure, sneaking out was old hat, but not splitting up after their adventures was entirely new. Sam hadn't known how this was going to play out, but she didn't expect to find Jake sitting at the table with Dad, eating at least his weight in breakfast. "Uhm." Sam said, "Morning?"

She tried hard not to think about the sensations that his lazy smile had called to the fore this morning. His sleep-roughened voice had made her see something entirely new. Sam wasn't sure what to make of it. 

Jake looked at her, knowingly. Dad looked at her, strangely. "Yes, it is morning."

"That's not what I meant!" Sam bit out, tiredly. Of course it was morning. The sun was up, and it was before noon. Ergo, it was morning. Did everyone in this house think she couldn't figure that out?

Sam sat down, and took Jake's water. She just dared anyone to say one word about it. No one did. Jake, under the table, passed her pill bag to her. In her lap, Sam pulled out the pills and made a small line in front of her, hoping that Gram, who came in with a plate of eggs fro her, would not see them. Sam made the quickest work possible out of taking her pills.

Gram spoke, "Jake said he'd like to take you to go get Regina. You won't be late for church."

Sam realized that Gram wasn't asking her not to be late. She was telling her not to be late. "No, we'll make it."

Sam pushed the plate away. This was a test of the highest order. This wasn't tiny Roper's Cafe. This was their church, people who knew her well, who knew far too much about the accident.

Sam recalled that she was back there at church, as the pastor spoke the absolution, including himself in the reminder of God's forgiving nature, and unfailing regard for His creation.

Sam needed to sit. She plopped down in the pew, ignoring Gram's startled expression, ignoring that she was the only person sitting in a room full of people saying the Lord's Prayer. She had stood long enough, and not even leaning on the pew in front of her had helped. The service was really just getting started. It was funny, the things she thought about, when she thought about God. She thought about sunshine, about timeless moments when she had been herself, and happy in her own world.

Then the readings started. Over and over the words fell over her ears, words of redemption and hope, words that she herself could not find the fullness of. It felt like there was a block between her and God.

Sam was so angry at Him, angry at what He'd allowed to happen, angry that her life, that the lives of those she'd always loved had been irrevocably shaken. She was angry that she was angry. Still, she inhaled and said, "Thanks be to God."

She had always been told to look for God in the aftermath of trouble, look for the ups in the downs, but she wasn't ready to find them. Everyone else was ready to move on, but not her. Sam was jarred when the Brinkley family left for the Children's church. That was new. Sam had been too old to be allowed to leave by the time it was implemented, but the whole pew emptied, save her family.

The pastor went on and on in his sermon about Christian unity. There was unity, he said, in suffering. One person's suffering was another's, and they all had an obligation to ease other people's pain and sorrow where they could. They had an obligation to seek joy, seek the fullness of life that was promised for eternity. Sam disagreed. Very few people in this room would ever understand her pain, and even fewer still could stand by her side and help her through it. Her pain was her own responsibility, and no one else's.

Sam panicked internally when Gram looked at her, as if to say, "Where's your offering?"

Sam didn't have any money. She hadn't remembered to go to the wallet on her dresser and pull out a fiver. Still, she patted her pockets, to at least save face with her Gram. Sam was as shocked as could be when a $10 bill hit her grasp. The paper felt rough and alien, and Sam wondered fleetingly how it had ended up there. When the basket passed them by, Sam flicked a glance at Regina, who, while Baptist, seemed to be faring okay in the service.

She hadn't expected her to come, but she had served as the reason Jake was at River Bend in the morning. Gram had gone on about how kind it was to think of Regina. It seemed Jake had scored points, somehow, even when Gram still stared at them with laser beams of eyes.

_I guess love would not be love  
Without a risk of being burned_

_Anything in life worth havin'_  
Lord, it has its sacrifice  
But the gift that you're receiving  
Is worth more than the price

 _How Are You Gonna Know?_  Garth Brooks

When the passing of the peace, Sam saw her chance. She slid around Dad, after he put a hand on her shoulder, as he had every Sunday for all the years she could recall. She liked to think that in that touch there had been prayers, surety, and comfort. Now, his touch felt restraining. He was looking into her eyes, and his words of peace might as well have been "Stop."

She didn't. She ignored the swarm of people heading her way, and stepped across the aisle, pausing only to briefly accept the words of people she could not avoid, and give words quickly, avoiding their unspoken questions. She knew what everyone said about girls who sought out a guy in the passing of the peace, knew that her every move was being scrutinized doubly. She knew that there were gossip sessions about people who sought each other out in the passing of the peace.

Were they having a torrid affair, which really only consisted of flirtation, because in this town, that was torrid enough? Was the girl throwing herself at him in the desperation of being a single girl in a small church? If the guy approached the girl, it was often speculated upon as a clear declaration of intent. She wanted to spare Jake that, spare him the burden of being seen as anything else than what he was: her friend.

Jake was fending off Mrs. Harper when Sam got to where he was. She looked at Sam and quickly closed her mouth, patted Sam on the hand, and moved on.

Sam stepped into the pew to allow her to pass, praying she wouldn't topple over, or that Mrs. Harper wouldn't fall over. Sam was barely able to walk, and Mrs. Harper wasn't much better. Jake looked at her as Sam found her words, "The Peace of the Lord be with you." The words felt heavy. She knew that everyone was looking. Max was wide-eyed. They avoided each other in church like the plaque, usually, kind of like they had in school. Everyone knew they were thick as thieves, even at school, but they had tried to keep some semblance of gender segregation alive publicly. It didn't seem to matter so much anymore.

This peace, though, Sam realized, it wasn't a hello. It was a question and a promise. In those words were a plea for forgiveness and restoration of their relationship, even the rough parts, and a promise that they could have a clean slate in the coming week. She wanted him to forgive that she had taken him away from this, that he had felt compelled to come and be with her, outside of the world he loved and knew. She wanted the forgiveness for all of the times she had cried, in the last weeks, cried and thrown things, and lost her train of thought, pushed him away even as she couldn't get close enough. She had tried to forgive others, and now, she wanted restoration.

Jake really looked at her then, and Sam watched as something lit in his eyes, "And also with you." She shifted away, intending to go back even though she didn't want to, even that she hadn't planned to, when Jake stepped closer as Seth and Adam came back to their seats. The pew was crowded, and Sam knew she had to go back before the communion was called. Just as she was intending to, Jake's arm bracketed her body, shifting his body into her space, leaving enough room for everyone.

_You left my heart as empty a_ _s a Monday morning church_

_It used to be so full of faith and now it only hurts_

_And I can hear the devil whisper_

_"Things are only getting worse"_

_Monday Morning Church_ , Alan Jackson

 

Mrs. Harper had stopped by to tell him how glad she was to be seeing him back at church. Sam thought she was the talk of the congregation, but Jake knew that he was. This was the first time he'd stepped foot in here since the accident. He and God had a few things to work out, and showing up to worship when all he wanted to do was curse at God, and demand answers that He hadn't given, seemed wrong. God had given him nothing, and had taken everything, and Jake wasn't cool with walking in her and saying how thankful he was, when all he was really doing was screaming at God inside, angry and furious. 

He had seen the pastor at the feed store, and had walked the other way. He could not stand another sermonette. He could not allow himself to give into the urge to punch a man of the cloth until he bled, and knew what pain felt like, so that he would shut up about silver lining and God's understanding and comfort. It was all a great big fucking lie, to say that the pastor understood. The man knew nothing, and he was no more a mouthpiece for God than anyone. If he had been, he would have known why this had happened. 

So Jake avoided church because of his anger, and his own shame at being angry. 

Jake had spent half of the service looking up and to the left, searching out Sam. He had never been so glad for the vantage that his family's pew provided, even though he knew that whatever Ely had picked this spot hadn't done so Jake, decades later, could stare at Sam. The elder brought down the large trays with tiny cups in them, that held grape juice. Jake took two because he knew that Sam would have trouble with the tiny, flimsy, plastic cups.

She took it from him all the same, with a smile of thanks, and Jake took two squares of bread before he passed the basket to his brother. His hand remained under hers, not touching, just supportive, there, even as she leaned into his space. She was terrified that she'd spill the juice over her dress. He shifted the juice to his other hand.

"Draw near with faith..." The pastor spoke, "The body and blood of Christ keep you in life Eternal." At that, Jake completed the ritual with his right hand. The tiny cup slid into the holder in the pew. Sam set her cup on top of his, and it was only when she pulled away that he realized that the hand that had been under hers had been wrapped around hers for the entirety of the communion service.

Jake let the rest of the service wash over him, lost in the simple sensation of Sam's hand within his become his focal point. He was angry at God, angry that He had stolen her from him, angry that God had created him to be such a broken person that he could fail the one person he had vowed, as a small child, to protect and defend with every breath in his body. What was he, who was he, if not the person that cared about Sam? 

He nearly dropped the hymn book when Sam pulled away after the recessional. He was glad that she had come to him, because it saved him the non-verbal confrontation with Wyatt that was sure to come. He could have moved over more. The Brinkley kids had moved their stuff, and there was room that Wyatt refused to acknowledge.

Jake found himself wondering why they hadn't sat together in church in years. As kids, they'd sat together and filled in those silly "What words did you hear in the sermon?" sheets because they'd been expected to sit still and listen. Sam used to kick her patent leather clad feet against him, provoking him to kick back, and then blaming him for the noise when he did. He liked to sit with the Foresters as a kid, because it was a big deal to be trusted to sit somewhere else, even though his parents had only been trying to keep him and Quinn apart, because most of the time, only one of them could go to sit with Sam. He'd never much liked it when it was Quinn's turn.

She poked him in the ribs, "Quick, run! The hoard is coming." Her whisper was kind, but not completely without merit. The hordes were descending now that the service was over. He'd hoped they'd make it to the parking lot unscathed. The final "Amen" had been the death knell of their solitude.

After five minutes of talking, Jake wanted to flee. He'd be kind, and haul Sam along with him. The old ladies had decent intentions, he guessed, but Sam was left to field questions they had no answers to. She was leaving this afternoon, back to San Francisco. Jake did a double take internally, when she omitted that he was going to be with her. He knew that Sam was trying to get the eccentrics that had been planning their wedding since he'd grown into his hands and feet off of their backs. Still, some part of him, the part that had the remnants of a happy turtle painted over it, wanted her to acknowledge they were in each other's lives enough to warrant the reconciliation that was the passing of the peace.

Jake turned away from another church lady to hear Sam talking to a member of the youth group, Paul's little sister, Jessa. Jessa was all right. He didn't know her. She was so young. She was Sam's age, he realized, but in listening to them talk, he saw no comparison. Sam had always been more mature than the silly girls in the youth group, but the...time in San Francisco had changed her, changed them both. There was wheel burn on her fingers and a amused light in her eyes, like she was finally seeing Jessa for the child she was. Sam was trying to be polite, but Jake hoped to wrap up his conversation with Paul and leave. Paul's suggestion that they go play some ball was kind, but he was busy.

Sam caught his eye and her unspoken "Ready to go?" was met with his assent. They were collecting Regina, who was with Grace, when Wyatt called them over to talk to the pastor. Jake was trying not to grit his teeth at the man. After all, they were in the house of God.

"Sam, you ready?" Wyatt asked, holding open the door as they all made their way outside. His family had long ago left. Sam's return was the reason they'd been held up even further as the pastor had wanted to talk. He tried not to snap at Wyatt, when the man used "we" statements. Wyatt had done no work to help Sam recover, and he had no place in her triumphs. Sam's strides were hers alone.

Sam caught Jake's gaze. "We have...plans, Dad." She clearly did not want to mention that they were expected by his brothers to satisfy their curiosity, "I'll be home later. Promise." Sam shifted in her flats, and Jake knew that her knees were shaking from fatigue under the voluminous skirt she was wearing.

"Sam." Wyatt shook his head, "That's not an option for you." He looked at Jake when he said it, and Jake wanted badly to show him just how much of an option it was.

Jake knew the images in his mind were nothing but fantasy. He wouldn't make her choose. There was no choice to be made, he knew, even as some part of him hummed with satisfaction as Sam threw him an unspoken question. Yeah, he'd arrange it with his brothers. She didn't need to worry. "I'll get our stuff. We can just leave from River Bend, if you're ready, Regina?"

The woman smiled, "My bags are in the car, but thanks for asking." She shifted against the sun, and Jake knew that this conversation had to move on. It was hot enough to boil water outside with no stove, even though it was before noon.

Sam shook her head, "No." Just no. There was a determined glint in her eyes, one that dared anyone to challenge her. "I'm coming with you."

Wyatt looked heavenward, "Samantha." Jake just dared Wyatt to raise his voice. He just dared Wyatt to say one thing to her that wasn't exactly the way it ought to be.

Jake saw a lightbulb go off in Sam's eyes, "It's just that...Gram's out of ice." Wyatt, instead of looking angry, looked concerned. Sam continued, "We'll go get some, stop at Three Ponies to let everyone know the plans, and be home."

Grace looked vaguely impressed, if vaguely ashamed that she was feeling that way. Regina was suppressing a smile. Wyatt looked befuddled as to how he could put up a fight. She was a genius. Jake was amazed by her guts when she started off towards the Scout, stopped, turned around, looked at Jake, and said, "That's cool with you, right?"

_I would follow him right down the roughest road I know_

_Someday soon, goin' with him someday soon_

_But when he comes to call, my pa ain't got a good word to say_

_Guess it's 'cause he was just as wild in his younger days_

_Someday Soon_ , Suzy Bogguss

Sam sighed in relief as she and Jake drove away. He quirked a brow, "Ice, huh?"

"I hope you've got money." Sam replied, indicating her lack of funds, and avoiding a direct discussion of the facts of their departure. "Thanks for the tithe, by the way."

Sam flipped on the radio. It was the perfect country song for driving down the road, and Sam almost sighed at how perfect their solitude was. Jake didn't say anything, and Sam knew that she'd have to get the money to him when they got home. If he was going to take to slipping money in her pockets, she had every right to reciprocate.

They stopped at the store, and Sam declined to go in. She was swimming through the mental stimulation that church had been. She really hoped the dinner at home was low key. She wanted to throw on some sweat pants, eat a decent meal, and spend the afternoon in the cool quiet that was her home. Jake left her alone in the truck in the parking lot, and Sam simply listened. Since the accident, even the smallest of stimulations was sometimes enough, and sometimes she needed more.

She was content to sit and watch the world go by, content to hear the hum of cars, feel the warmth of the sun as it was absorbed through the glass and contrasted with the air. Old song lyrics floated in and out of her brain and the ten minutes that Jake was just enough for her to relax into a slushy lump of warmth. She thought about just skipping dinner, and curling up somewhere. It was hot for most people, but she had been cold from poor circulation and nerves all through church.

The warmth of Jake's body had been bulwark in the process of communion. Church was draining, but he'd been there, and they had gotten through it together. She knew that Jake had something to say, though she was content to wait it out. She jumped when the car door opened, relived that it was just Jake, and not some crazed, masked, mad-person, intent on mayhem. Sam cracked a smile at the image in her head. Matrona had taken up wheelchair kickboxing after her injury.

Jake smiled in return, "What's so funny?"

Sam looked at him, and flipped the radio off, "You are." And he was. His hat was on his head, and he was driving them a long road on a desert. Country music was playing, the real stuff, not slicked up Nashville flavored pop, because Jake had banned that from his beloved Scout's radio, and things were going well.

"Hey." He said softly but quickly, when she pressed the station past a song he liked, "Let that be. You're going to wear out the button."

Sam suppressed a smile, and leaned back against the seat, pretending not to notice when he started to hum the song out loud. He pretended not to notice when she started to sing the words out loud. She pretended not to care when he joined in, but it wouldn't have taken much to see that she was honestly glad. She was even happier when Jake started to drive at just the speed limit, instead of his customary bit over.

_I had a horse, her name was Bad Luck,_

_She wasn't good lookin', but she sure could buck._

_Yeah hoo- Hey, hey,_

_Yippy-i Ki-ay_.

 _That Buckin' Song_ , Robert Earl Keen, Jr.

Her good mood didn't even fade when they loaded up the bags at Three Ponies, or when Max hugged her tight. "You come home again before you leave, understood?" Sam promised that they would stop by, and waited for Jake to finish hauling his stuff outside.

The radio was their companion, bolstering them when otherwise, the moment would have been too complex for words to even start to express the fullness of their emotions. Jake pulled in, and Sam regretfully shut off the radio. She was looking around when movement in the pasture caught her eye.

She had tried her best not to look, but she looked now, and what she saw, scared her. There was a woman in her pasture, with her horse. With Kitty.

When that fact registered, Sam was out of the truck as quickly as gravity could take her. She was glad to be so close to the pasture. Horror rushed through her.

She felt like Forrest Gump as he raced away from the rednecks who were bullying him in school. She wasn't moving very fast, to be sure, but the clip was the fastest she had.

Sam was at the gate, beating Jake by a little bit. She fumbled with the gate, and the intruder looked up. "Get away from her!" Her words were loud, rushed. They hurt her ears. "Get. Away. From. My. Horse. Now." Sam was winded, but she knew that she could be intimidating when she needed to be.

Sam put herself between her horse and the stranger. "Wait, wha-?"

She could feel Jake's presence, utterly calm, but sharp like glass.

She might be slightly out of order, but Kitty didn't care. Something inside of her snapped when Kitty looked at her, and there was no hate in her warm eyes, only a calm, "Well, I wondered when you'd come 'round." Sam ran her hand over Kitty's velvety body, as the horse snuffled over her shoulder. Sam's heart felt full. 

Sam modulated her tone and cut the redhead off, "This isn't a bo-boarding barn. You can't just touch someone else's horse..."

Sam would have gone on for ages, but Jake cut in, "Who are you?" He stepped closer to Sam and Kitty. 

Sam felt like she was shattering. Her heart was racing and she was trembling. To think that she had been home for two days and hadn't raced to Kitty's side. To think that she had just realized that she wanted more than anything to stay, just as she was planning to leave. The injustice of it all hit her like a bad fall. The guilt was still eating her alive, but she didn't feel it in quite the same way. Some of her unvoiced questions had been answered and she found that, whatever had been ruined, her bond with her horse hadn't been one of those things. Kitty seemed to be laughing at her short hair, snuffling at her. Sam breathed in her horsey scent, and rejoiced.

The woman looked at her strangely as Sam fumbled with keeping her balance. "I'm Brynna, Sam." Sam noticed the tone in the woman's voice, but didn't have a clue how that was supposed to matter. She looked at Jake, asking him to get somebody, because this woman knew her name and was clearly unhinged.

He shook his head, indicating that he wasn't about to leave her alone. Sam looked at Jake, questioning what their plan was. He shot a glance at the barn, a clear "Go."  _Go._

Sam refused. The woman wasn't a threat, just a trespasser and a thief. She wasn't going to hurt them, and there was no reason for Sam to go for help. And anyway, she wouldn't leave him. Not now. Not ever. _Never._

She wouldn't leave him, and she wouldn't leave Kitty. 

The woman smiled, again. "You must be Jake. Wyatt's told me so much about the two of you. He hardly shuts up about you, Sam." The woman blushed, "Not that I want him to! I don't mean..."

Jake was as confused as Sam was. "You need to spell it out for us." He was on guard. Sam was confused, but she knew that, together, they'd figure it out. The woman wore jeans, and a floral blouse. Her red hair was bound up, and Sam thought that perhaps she was pretty. Her nose was pert, and she seemed, Sam thought, too at ease around Kitty. 

The woman frowned, "He didn't tell you I was coming for dinner?" She smiled, as though she was used to Dad's absentminded ways, like she thought it was cute or something. "Well. He can remember the details, but the big stuff, like inviting his girlfriend over for dinner, that he forgets."

Sam's heart stopped.

Everyone said that it happened, but Sam had never felt it before. She had called all those people melodramatic liars. Now, she knew how wrong she had been. It was a moment of absolute stillness, absolute nothing. She knew, now, after all of this time, what dying felt like. The white-hot pain passed in a nanosecond that felt like her entire life was being pulled out in front of her and there was nothing left but the pain.

There was no pain like this betrayal, and this loss. She would have rather been run over by a horse, had to deal with another stint in rehab a thousand times than have to deal with knowing that Dad had lied, lied and moved on, just like everyone at church. The worst night a rehab felt like a gentle hug in comparison to this. A part of her died, in that moment, and Sam knew that no amount of anything would ever bring that part of her back.

The blood drained from her face as this woman's words hit home. She heard Jake inhale sharply. "He didn't mention me?" The woman shifted. Sam wasn't looking at Jake's face, but she could make a good guess as to his expression, or lack thereof. He could be blank and cold.  Her boots were colorful, and the colors blended in Sam's vision.

Sam felt like she was going to pass out. Her vision started to swim and her head felt light. She was going to be sick. The only thing that kept her on her feet was Kitty. She was going to be sick. She did the only thing she was good at now. She lied. "It's fi-..."

Jake cut her off, voice hard, "You can go."

The woman nodded. "I'll just let your father know you're home, Sam."

_Here comes goodbye_

_Here comes the last time_

_Here comes the start of every sleepless night_

_The first of every tear I'm gonna cry_

_Here comes the pain_

_Here comes me wishing things had never changed_

_Here Comes Goodbye_ , Rascal Flatts

Jake wanted to put his fist through a wall. He wanted to kill Wyatt. Sam was crumbling before his eyes. Every bit of her that had trusted her father, every bit of her that had loved that man with the devotion that defined Sam Forester broke in that moment. It was heartbreaking to see the pain and the betrayal flood her body, as though it was coming from the depths from her soul.

Jake knew he wasn't faring much better. He'd deal with his pain later, they both would. Sam was seconds away from sobbing. Her nose was twitching in that way it always did seconds before the tears flowed. He'd seen her cry too many times over things people had no control over. Wyatt had control over how this happened, and he had let it happen like this.

Jake wrapped his arms around her, and let his tears flow into her hair, trying to help her to feel safe and secure. There were no words for what he was feeling. He felt betrayed, and utterly destroyed, decimated in a way that he had never expected. He was supposed to be an adult. He was supposed to be taking care of Sam. Instead, he cried for the last thread of relationship between him and Wyatt. There was no going back from the lie, no changing how it had become known.

Sam tried to soothe him, "Hey..." Her voice was hoarse from her own tears, "Hey..." She was trembling, even as she reached up, trying to brush back his hair, "Don't cry, Jake."

A broken sob escaped him as he looked at the broken heart plain in her eyes, "I'm supposed to be taking care of you." Jake tried to think, tried to clear his head. He felt so angry, so angry and shocked that he couldn't see. They hadn't known to expect this.

She wiped her tears on his T-shirt hem that she yanked out from under his dress shirt, "You are." Sam cried, and he cried, until there were no more tears to be found within the dry desert their hearts had become. Wyatt was a liar, and the whole foundation of who they'd known him to be was gone. Kitty had lumbered off for parts unknown, wholly disinterested in her human's antics. Jake looked at Sam's pale complexion, and the tear tracks that contrasted her red nose. Jake reached into his pocket, and passed her a tissue.

"What are we going to do, Jake?" Sam was looking to him for an answer. For the millionth time, he felt the crushing blow of not having an answer when her trust was so clearly placed in him. "I can't stop thinking..." Sam sniffed, "I've spent so long praying I could think, and now, I'd give anything to make my thoughts stop."

"I know, Brat." Jake whispered, "I know." He could see the ghosts of memories dancing in her eyes, no longer happy, but tinged and taunting. He hated Wyatt from taking those memories from her, forcing them to become something new.

"Well." Sam shook her head, as if to clear the headache he saw building between her eyes, "I thought Gram was making pie."

He knew Sam didn't want to go in there, but she also didn't want people to come find her. Sam was infinitely stronger than he was. He wanted to go, and never set foot in that house again. He was enraged, and under the rage, was a pain that only loss of every belief he'd held dear could cause. "You're stronger than this, Sam. Don't ever forget that."

She nodded, "I have to be, Jake."

He wished that wasn't true, even as he couldn't deny the truth in her words.

_Everyone thinks that girl's a lady_

_But I don't._

_I think that girl's shady._

_I know that you think she's best_

_I don't even think she cares,_

_I don't know what you see..._

_There's nothing there._

_Doo Wah Doo_ , Kate Nash

She had the guts to be nice to them. She had the gall to smile. She lacked the brain cells to fail to see that this wasn't okay. Sam had never met a dumber person. She had never met someone she hated so much in her entire life. She had never before wished someone ill. She wanted this woman, with her smiles and her red hair, gone. She thought of a thousand cutting remarks. She thought of a million ways to put the woman in her place. Then, she would look at Dad. The desire to speak grew, but her resolve lessened.

Sam wanted to scream. She wanted to yell until every thought that was ripping her mind like hot lava stopped. She could hear Ella in her mind saying that she had dissociated, that she felt like she was living in some kind of nightmare because her mind, her soul, couldn't cope with the reality. She nearly gagged on everything she put in her mouth.

This was a farce. This smiling Dad, who danced on every word the woman spoke, was a farce of a man. He was a liar. This smiling man wasn't her father. Gram didn't seem to notice that she'd just been sobbing her eyeballs out. Sam tried to focus on her desert plate. She couldn't hear a thing that was being said. She felt like she was being swallowed by static. This was agony. 

 _This is agony._ Sam gripped her fork tightly. 

 _I know._  Jake replied with the set of his lips, using his face to ask a question he would not voice. _Ready to go?_

 _Whenever you are._ Sam gave her assent with much relief. She had been waiting to leave since they sat down. 

Jake crumpled his napkin in his lap. _Do you want to tell Grace or--_

Still, the woman tried to involve her in the conversation, as did Dad, but it was no use. Sam was worn out, beaten down, broken. Sam was in the middle of telling Jake that they could leave whenever now that the agonizing meal was over, when she broke into their nonverbal conversation. It was the height of rudeness. Anyone who knew them that you didn't interrupt the flow of a conversation. But. Then. She didn't know them. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Jake asked, shortly. He was just as hurt as she was, if not more. He'd always identified with Dad, taken pride in wanting to emulate him, and now, they both knew that there was nothing left to emulate.

The woman tilted her head, like she thought she was being cute or something. It was disgusting. She was disgusting. They both were disgusting. "You look like you've been having a conversation."

"I'm sorry, Bryn." Dad said, setting Sam's teeth on edge, "They never did learn how rude it is." He shot Sam a warning glance. She sipped her lemonade to chase away the peppery taste of angry words.

"It's just something they've always done." Gram tried to help them as she finished putting the dinner plates on the sideboard. 

"Rude?" Jake sharply asked.

Sam looked at him pleadingly.

He shut up. She didn't have the energy for an argument.

The woman shook her head, as if she were so sweet and kind as to ignore Jake's tone. What a lying idiot. No one could be insulted and not take offense. She must be the dumbest creature to ever walk the face of the earth, thinking she could just waltz in here like there was room for her, like she was needed or wanted. "Fascinating."

"We're not lab rats." Sam snapped. "It's not magic."

She was so tired of people going around and saying that there was something different about their relationship, something wrong. It got old, really fast. It got even older even faster from this person. There was no reason she needed to know. And anyway, the screwed up relationship in this room wasn't hers. Her relationship wasn't built on lies and secrets.

"How do you do it?" The woman pressed. Sam nearly threw her water glass at her. She saw the image in her mind, saw the woman drenched with water, felt the hum in her blood that screamed "Do it!" but she didn't. She held in her words, and gripped her water tight to ensure that she wouldn't toss it across the table into the woman's fake smile.

Maybe if she tried to make connections with someone other than someone else's husband, she would figure it out. Maybe if she spent 16 years devoted to a person meant for her, instead of scamming on someone else's family, maybe she too would be able to read someone, feel them with her whole heart, instead of just the bits she stole from someone else.

Sam was fed up with the woman's rudeness. "I'm sorry, do you just go around asking personal questions to virtual strangers?" The woman didn't know her, and Sam didn't care to change that. In fact, she prayed she never saw her face again.

Dad looked furious. 

Sam met his hard gaze.

She spoke to him, hoping he'd get the message. "It's just trust, and communication. Respect. Tough concepts really." Dad was cut off at the knees. He knew it, and she knew it, too. He said nothing, shame fleetingly marring his fake joyous expression. Sam knew that emotion was a lie, too. She had been raised by a liar. Thank God Momma wasn't here to see this. It would kill her.

_So I listened to the preacher as he told me what to do_

_He said you can't go hatin' others who have done wrong to you_

_Sometimes we get angry, but we must not condemn_

_Let the good Lord do His job and you just pray for them_

_I pray your brakes go out runnin' down a hill_

_I pray a flowerpot falls from a window sill_

_and knocks you in the head like I'd like to_

_Pray for You_ , Jaron and the Long Road to Love

The woman was going on about some trail ride or other. Sam didn't know. She didn't care. This whole thing was a bunch of bull. "...that night."

Jake's grip on his fork was tight. Sam didn't know what to make of it. Dad had gone on dates with this woman. That much was clear. Sam nearly jumped when Jake replied, "I know what night you're talking about. Sam was in the ER that night."

Sam understood, then, that Dad had been with her the night she'd been in the ER. It hurt, but clearly, Jake was taking it harder than she was. He looked two point five seconds away from jumping out of his seat. 

She could not allow herself to feel, even though she knew that everything was going to hit her in a few hours, and that likely, she'd spend the next few days vacillating between rage and abject sorrow. It was the price she'd pay for not allowing herself to feel now, and if Jake's reactions were anything to go by, it was a price she'd gladly pay.

Still, some echo of the hurt she was trying to bury must have displayed on her face. Her father had chosen this other person over her.

Sam didn't care what Dad did. She tried to lie to herself that she didn't care that he was breaking every vow he'd ever made to Momma. He'd taken off his wedding ring. He never did that. Now he had. Sam tried to tell herself that it didn't hurt her. It did. It did. When she'd come inside again and noticed, she couldn't breathe. Even now, ages later, she couldn't look at him. That ring, the marriage it symbolized, had made him the man he was. How dare he pretend otherwise and try to erase Momma.

Not only had he placed this woman above Momma, he'd placed this woman above her. Momma was dead. That didn't negate much, but it did mean that she couldn't physically need Dad. Sam did. She had needed him, and he wasn't there when she needed her. He had been with this woman that night. Sam hoped the choice was worth it.

His gaze was searching, begging her to understand, what she did not know or care.

Sam shook her head, not caring what he had to say. "I just needed to talk to somebody."

His words were soft, but all Sam heard were lies. He could have talked to Gram, to Max, to Luke, to Jake, to Sue, to her. He could have talked to anybody, and yet, he'd picked this stranger to talk to about things she didn't even understand, things she would never begin to understand. Sure, he'd needed to talk.

The woman was oblivious, like the annoying little twit she was. She was nattering on like an annoying fly. Couldn't she see how dumb she was? Did she have no sense of self-awareness? "Your father and I met when he came down to the BLM to talk about your horse."

Sam looked at her, gaze like ice, "My horses are are mine." This woman could do whatever she wished with Dad, whatever she cared to do, though Sam didn't have much to say about her motivations. She was young enough, theoretically, to be Dad's daughter. At 27, she was closer in age to Sam than she was to Dad. For the man to go on like a madman about a three year age difference, when he was in his early 40s and dating a woman who hadn't even hit 30 was laughable and hypocritical.

What did a woman like this one see in Dad? He was a stick in the mud who folded his socks and had no time for silly dates. Evidently, he did have time for romantic trail rides and to date women who got their nails done. Who spent money on their nails? What a waste. Sam hoped she didn't expect to get her hooks in Dad, and spend her college fund on nasty nail designs without any sense of line or proportion.

Those nails gripped a napkin Sam had embroidered, and she wanted to rip it out of her hands. "Of your accident, dear, though, your father wanted to check on the legality of some things surrounding Blackie. That's how we met. He's told me quite a bit about what you've been going through."

"Oh." Sam said, trying to shut this conversation down. How had she forgotten about Blackie, about him being out there, lost and alone, about him being just as lost as she was? She was horrible, and she needed to get out of here. She needed to do something, get outside. Somehow. She had to fix this mess.

Sam shot a glance at Jake. He looked away quickly, blood draining from his face as he blew out a calming breath. Sam knew that he could not take being pressed about Blackie right now, so she simply took his hand under the table, and, turning the table, compressed some of his joints. 

He swore with one micro-expression that all was well, but she couldn't ask him how he knew. How could she be selfish to forget that Blackie had to be found, had to be safe. There were any number of issues that could befall him. He was young, sure, and used to the comforts of ranch life. She had no way of knowing if he was physically safe.

"I...wanted to help." The woman said, "So I hope you don't mind, but I've been taking your horses out."

Sam made a broken sound. She could not hold in her words. It was all she could do not to scream. There was something sacred between a person and their horses, and to have another person come between that without permission was the lowest thing possible. A person's relationship with their horse was an extension of their selfhood, their souls, and to have someone enter into that dynamic without permission felt like a violation of her soul.

"I mind. I mind very much. I would have appreciated being asked, but since I didn't even know you existed, I can see how asking me if you could ride my horses would be an issue." Her tone was like flint, striking sparks against every spot that the words hit, "But since you've asked now, what I said earlier stands. I can't make it any plainer. Stay away from what's mine."

Dad's spoon hit the table with enough force to make her jump. It was a sensory reaction. Jake looked absolutely thunderous.

Sam hastened to reassure Jake that it had just been her body reacting to a stimuli. She wasn't scared of her father. He could speak as he wished. You were only afraid of people that had control over you.

He had nothing except a tawdry relationship that he had sacrificed his wife and child for, "Sam. I didn't raise you to talk to people like that. Kitchen. Now."

"It's all right." The woman said, sickly sweet and nastily fake and awful, "I can imagine how it must feel to be in her position, Wyatt." She looked at Dad, reprimanding, "You should have told her."

The change in his face was instantaneous, and it made Sam sick to see it. This person had Dad wrapped around her barely grown up, polished finger. Sam did not need this person's help in her relationship with her father. Still, she said nothing, as she had all afternoon, and squeezed Jake's hand under the table.

_Will you stop, no don't show!_

_Just have a think before you..._

_Will you stop, don't show!_

_Will you just have a think before you..._

_My brain and my bones don't want to take this anymore_

_No my brain and my bones don't want to take this anymore_

_No my brain and my bones don't want to take this anymore_

_No my brain and my bones don't want to take this anymore_

_Dickhead_ , Kate Nash

It was cleaning up dessert that changed everything. After the outburst, she had felt poorly, and made more of an effort with her Grandmother. Her mother had raised Sam to be polite, not that anyone seemed concerned with recalling her. Ignoring the woman pointedly, Sam said, "I didn't know you made peanut butter pie, Gram."

Grace smiled, "I didn't, honey, Brynna did." Sam wanted to spit out the bite of the pie in her mouth. She would have done it, had she not liked this dress because it was a gift from Sue, and had she not dropped her napkin after twisting it within her fingers. She swallowed, and set down her fork.

The woman added, "Of course your Grandmother was nice enough to let me use the kitchen, as mine is so small." Sam just bet her kitchen was small. No doubt her small kitchen made good company for her tiny, vapid, brain, "I heard you like peanut butter."

Great. Now her favorite food was ruined. The woman had already taken her father, tried to steal her horses, made light of everything she held dear, and now, she stuck her grubby paws into her favorite food? Sam would never be able to eat peanut butter pie again without thinking about the woman who made her stomach turn, and the father who'd betrayed her like a coward. What more did she want?

The woman smiled hopefully, and Sam looked at the pie. It was then that she saw the pie dish the pie was in. It was a lovely Lenox pattern that Sam had seen a million times. Her mother's smile flashed before her mind's eye as they made a pudding pie in that very dish. The woman had used her mother's pie dish. She had... Oh, God.

_Oh. God._

_God. Why?_

_Was this a sign, too?_

Gram made move to go get the coffee.

Nose over toes, and up she goes. Sam shifted, standing. "I'll go check on the coffee, Gram."

Jake stood, "I'll help." He put a hand on her arm, having felt that her knees had been shaking all during the meal. Sam had tried to stop it, but controlling her trembling only made it easier to cry. She refused to do that in front of these people.

She needed a plan. She could not allow this farce to go on. She could not allow her mother to be pulled into it. If Dad wanted to be a cheating, lying, good for nothing, that was one thing entirely, but to haul Momma into it wasn't something Sam would allow.

Sam flicked her eyes towards the pie, and blurted without thinking, "If we've all had pie, I'll go cover it." She grabbed it awkwardly, almost loosing her balance in the process. Momma wouldn't want this pie in her dish, would she? She kept her expression blank though inside she was screaming, and headed into the kitchen.

Jake boldly shut the door between the room. Sam knew that normally wasn't allowed, but she dared anyone to say anything. Jake's gaze met hers as soon as they were in the room, "Brat?"

"Get me some tupperware." Sam asked, moving to get a knife. She felt as though this place wasn't even her home anymore. She didn't...she didn't have a home. She didn't have a home. She had lost everything. Her life with her horses. Her home. Her father. Everything that she could have counted on to be the same when she got home had changed. This was worse than realizing that the community had moved on. That they had warned her about in rehab, but not even Ella had told her that her family was going to leave her in the dust.

_Got a pebble in my hand a_ _nd I toss it out into the middle of the Rio Grande_

_But the river keeps runnin'_

_Don't even know that I'm around_

_I could throw a million more and not slow it down_

_that's kind of what I'm feelin'_

_Tryin' to stop your leavin'_

_There's nothin' that I wouldn't try i_ _f I thought it would change your mind_

_Train's a comin', river's runnin'_

_Train's a comin', river's runnin'_

_Pain's a comin', tears are runnin'_

_Yeah that's kind of the way I'm feelin'_

_Knowin' I couldn't stop your leavin'_

_Trying to Stop Your Leaving_ , Dierks Bentley

"Huh?" He asked, getting the coffee service together. Sam noted through unshed tears that he was using the everyday set. It was a message that the woman would miss. Sam wished she could be dumb enough to fail to see how much her actions in the last weeks and months had effected everyone around her. Although, maybe Dad wasn't as effected as she'd thought. Sam couldn't bring herself to be glad about that, though under any other circumstances, she would have been.

"Plastic storage containers for food, usually with blue lids." She elaborated, hacking into the pie with force, creating pretty even slices, her grandmother's training not even leaving her in times of stress, even when she could barely feel where her body was or what her hands were doing. Her body was shaking. She was so tired. She could not back down now. She would make it through this.

He nodded, and handed her several from the cupboard near his feet. She transferred the pie into the plastic dishes calmly. Finishing her work, she mutely snapped lids on each of the filled bowls. Turning, she walked to the sink, placed her mother's pie dish gently in the deep farm sink, and turned on the hot water full blast. She watched as particles of chocolate crust and peanut butter floated to the top of the water.

She added a squirt of soap, and watched as the water filled the sink, soap bubbling up as it did. She moved, lost in recesses of her mind, to lift the dish and scrub it clean. Jake spoke, then, as he'd been watching her. "Brat, don't!" He reached across her and turned on the cold water spout. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly.

She looked right through him as she nodded, and took up the sponge. She began to scrub the dish systematically and quite thoroughly. Satisfied, she rinsed the dish in the other side of the sink, using cold water to increase shine, and winced slightly as the cold water, in a slow stream, numbed her fingers.

She watched with dispassion as she rinsed the dish, knowing she probably had to hurry. Jake had finished setting up the coffee tray, and had gone out of the room, taking the laden tray with him. A hand settled on her shoulder, "Sammy?"

Sam turned off the water, and turned to face her grandmother. She was holding the pie dish in her hand. Gram looked at her face, and the dish. "Oh, Sammy. I didn't think." Of course Gram would know what this set meant to her. It had been her mother's. Now, it was Sam's, and most every holiday, she added something to it.

Lenox wasn't inexpensive, and the original owner hadn't been able to complete her set. That was Sam's job, now, and one day, the set would be part of the things that she took with her as she set off into the world, college, and maybe, one day, marriage. In other words, not only had the woman put her mitts on Sam's china, she had done the same to her boyfriend's wife's wedding china. Gram knew how Sam felt about her china set, how for Sam, it symbolized so many of the secret, back of the stove dreams people never voice, but held dear along with their careers and things like that.

Sam would sooner smash all of the china, watch all of her past, her future hopes and dreams shatter into a million pieces than see them in that woman's inept mitts.

"It's all right." Sam said, moving around to find a dish towel, "It has to be. He chose." This was Dad's choice. She had to respect that. She had to hold her tongue. If Dad had cared at all for her opinion, he would have warned her, told her, that this woman was coming here.

"I didn't realize it was your pattern until after she'd started using it, and then, what was I to say honey, without being rude? Your father cares very much for her." Gram reminded her.

"He must." She said, offhandedly, "How long?" Sam could not hide the shudder that ran through as she saw the bald sympathy on her Gram's face.

Grace wrapped her in a hug. "Seven weeks. They met at the BLM, and then hit it off at the grocery store, I think."

"Daddy never goes there." Sam protested, burrowing into her grandmother.

"I couldn't..." Gram met Sam's gaze, stepping back. "After you were hurt, I couldn't leave the house. Couldn't do anything. I'm sorry, Sam."

"For?' Sam asked. As far as Sam was concerned, this wasn't Gram's to be sorry for. Sure, she should have said something, warned her somehow, but Sam wasn't about to push away the only support she had left. She felt terribly alone.

"I know you're hurting, and I haven't done anything to make it better. I'm so sorry." Grace clarified. "I'm working on it, honey. I haven't been this depressed since your mother died or we lost PopPop, but...this time, I'm getting some help."

"Gram, it'll be okay." Sam hugged her Grandmother anew, loving her touch. Jake's touch felt like sparkles on her skin, warm and comforting and stomach tugging all at once. Gram's touch was different. It felt like all of her nerve endings were being soothed, cleansed. "Can we talk later? I...can't. Right now." Sam gasped, trying to breathe, "I'm..."

Gram nodded, prompting her to speak. Sam gathered her thoughts, glad that she still had a place within her family somewhere.

The woman burst into the room, saying "Jake said you were making tea. I wondered if you needed help."

Sam turned, wobbling as she moved slowly, "We've got it." The gall of this woman, to assume that Gram needed help in her own kitchen. How lovely it must be, to play house, Sam thought bitterly. What an utter idiot, to insult her grandmother like that. Couldn't she go away and never come back?

Brynna nodded slowly, "Oh. Okay." She brightened, "You washed my dish. Thanks, Sam."

 _Her_  dish? Her  _dish_? She had claimed Sam's china for her own? Sam wanted to throw it at her. She had nothing left, not even the foundation on which she had built her most private dreams. Sam could not hold her reply, "Momma always said to wash it pretty quickly."

Brynna colored, "Oh. I see. I didn't..." She looked at Gram, "Well, how about that tea?"

_People see me all the time and they just can't remember how to act_

_Their minds are filled with big ideas, i_ _mages and distorted facts_

_Idiot wind blowing every time your move your mouth_

_Blowing down the backroads heading south_

_Idiot wind blowing every time you move your teeth_

_You're an idiot babe_

_It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe_

_Idiot Wind_ , Bob Dylan

She thought this whole thing was her fault. Jake could read it in every word she didn't say. "Sam."

She looked over at him, whispering in difference to a sleeping Regina, "I'm sorry."

"It's my fault." Sam shook her head, "This whole mess, everything. I can't make my thoughts stop. I was born in my parent's bed, you know?"

"I know." Jake promised, "I know." He understood what she was feeling about Aunt Lou. It seemed like Wyatt had forgotten his wife. How he could forget the woman that had given him everything that mattered in this world was unfathomable.

He wasn't angry at Brynna. It wasn't her fault that she had entered into a relationship with Wyatt like she had. Brynna had clearly tried to be nice, tried to be her kindest in a crazy situation. Wyatt was the architect of all of this, though he knew it was easier for Sam to blame Brynna than to blame the man that was responsible.

Sam had been her father's right hand, the sum total of his world for so long. She felt shoved aside, Jake knew, and indignant on behalf of Aunt Lou. Saying goodbye a few hours back had been tense. Jake knew that Wyatt was sorry that he hadn't mentioned Brynna to Sam, but in Jake's eyes, that didn't change anything. He was only sorry he'd gotten caught trying to play the deck from both sides. It appeared Wyatt had plenty of time and energy to spend time with his girlfriend, but not enough to visit his injured daughter.

Jake saw how it was, clearly, and he had never been more disappointed in the man he once idolized. He felt crushed. They were done. Done. It was finished, whatever relationship they'd had.

His parents had pulled Sam aside to make sure she was okay when they'd stopped by, once the salient facts had been divulged. His father had always been good at reading Sam, and his mother had filled some of the holes left behind after Aunt Lou died. Sam had spent a lot of time here, growing up. No matter how angry Mom was, she would not walk away from one of her own when they were clearly hurting. It was like there was nothing amiss between them when Mom had hugged them. He didn't know to tell Sam, but they loved her, counted her as theirs.

She never needed to worry about not having a place in this world, not as long as he did. Jake felt broken inside. He was broken. He couldn't fix this, he couldn't make Wyatt see what was happening to Sam. He couldn't stop this. He felt like a bronc rider, barely hanging on, waiting for the second he'd fall, and hoping the clowns would save him.

He was hopelessly worried. "Sam?"

She turned to him, not bothering to hide the pain that had been inflicted upon her this morning, "Hm?"

Jake voiced his thoughts, "We have a little time left, with Sue. Maybe your father's just...flinging." Jake was hopeful, but he doubted it. "What do we really know?"

She outlined what they knew. They knew that the relationship had been going on since right after the accident, that Wyatt had neglected to mention it, but that Brynna was clearly comfortable with Wyatt. Jake agreed that they were really touchy-feely. He agreed that Wyatt looked like an idiot. Well, Sam said he was an idiot. Jake thought he looked happier than he had any right to be. He didn't have the right to be so happy when Sam was in such a state.

She was recovering, but she needed her father. He hadn't been there with her. Instead, he'd been blabbing Sam's private business to some woman. He didn't think Wyatt was an idiot, though insulting someone's reasoning was an insult of the highest order to Sam. You couldn't help what brainpower you had, she said, but you could help what you did with it. Calling someone stupid, in her mind, wasn't about IQ. It was about someone's efforts to observe and make inferences. Jake knew this. She'd called him an idiot a million times, usually followed with the question, "How did you not see that?"

She was incredibly perceptive, and Jake knew that the issues Sam was working through wasn't helping her to see that whatever flavor of the month Wyatt had pulled up, that no one would ever compare to her. She continued, softly, "She used my china."

Jake gripped the steering wheel tighter. He wasn't supposed to care about Sam's collections of dishes. He cared. She took care of those dishes. He remembered Aunt Lou telling her over and over how to care for the dishes, how they would one day be Sam's. He didn't know if Sam remembered, but he did. The china was a summation of Sam's past, and her dreams for the future. He could see why she felt so violated, even on top of Brynna's use of her horses. "I'm sorry."

"I feel like..." She paused, "I've been left behind and forgotten. What would you do, if Luke...?"

Jake paused. He knew what his job would be. He and Quinn would serve as lookouts. Adam would dig the hole, for sure, and Seth would come up with the alibi. The other roles were murky, but not one of them would let their father hurt Mom like that. A child's loyalty, Jake thought, was ultimately their mother's. Maybe he just felt like that because he'd always been close to his mom. If his father acted like a jackass, Jake knew he wouldn't take it well. He knew that he would have to take his mother's side, take care of her.

In short, leaving his mother in the dust would be the last thing his father did. Now, if their split was amiable, he could see a different outcome. "I'd probably...I don't know."

"What would Momma want, do you think?" Sam pressed, turning off the radio.

"You're going to have to be the one to make that call, Sam. She would want you to be happy, no matter what." Jake was certain. He didn't know what Aunt Lou would want. It seemed unfathomable that this was happening, that this was even a consideration. How was this happening? Jake would have sworn that Wyatt would have taken up riding sidesaddle before he brought some girl home, never mind a government employee.

"Well, they say everyone's happy in California." Sam joked, "Promise me you won't go insane and take up with some beach comber."

Jake snorted, "I hate the beach."

"I know. You and some beach comber make about much sense as Dad and the woman." Sam said, sadly.

Jake didn't want to say it, but very little about love did make sense. He could see that Wyatt thought he loved Brynna. He didn't know how it would play out. It just hurt, because he woke up this morning, not realizing that everything was going to change in an instant, and it had. He had thought that the accident had taught him that, but Jake guessed it wasn't enough. The lesson hit him over the head again and again. This time, though, he hoped he'd learned it. Another change would probably kill him.

_Something came calling_

_And I knew this time I had to go_

_California_

_I don't even know you_

_And you've taken me away from home_

_Feeling's running straight to my bones_

_Someday I'll be coming home_

_Someday I'll be coming home_

_With a cast iron soul_

_California (Cast Iron Soul),_  Jamestown Revival


	15. Push

_He never, ever saw it c_ _oming at all_

 _He never, ever saw it c_ _oming at all_

 _Hero,_  Regina Spektor

Her tears were silent. Hours later, he was still thinking about how on earth she had learned to cry silently. All her life, Sam cried loudly, but it was not so now. Jake found it scary. He hadn't even known she was crying until his shirtfront was wet. Last night, the blankets were pooled around them as she shook with silent tears.

"Hey..." Jake whispered.

Sam didn't say anything. Her arms wrapped around him like she was limpet. She put herself so close to his body that he couldn't breathe. Jake didn't mind the fact that every bit of her slight weight was bearing down on him, because it hurt to take in air. Each breath felt like he was in alternate dimension, like he was on a planet that made no sense right down to the molecules of air.

"Where'd you learn to cry like this, huh?" Sam shook her head, so he didn't press her. She cried herself to sleep, and he powerless to stop it, powerless to make it all go away.

Jake thought about the preceding day, and his stomach flipped. When they came back to Sue's after dropping Regina off at her home, Sam just collapsed. It was like the ground evaporated under her the second they crossed the threshold.

She didn't cry, but he could see the abject desperation and pain in her eyes. She didn't talk about it. She hardly said anything. Jake would have begged her to cry, if it would have done them any good. Sue looked at him like this not speaking thing was normal, until he got so angry at Sue's nonchalance that he went to the bedroom just to get away from it. Surprisingly, Sam followed.

She hadn't spoken since they'd gotten in, as though she had nothing to say after all that they had seen. She wasn't freezing him out. Had she been doing that, he could have coped. She was drawing inward, deep into some place within herself that not even he could reach. She crawled into bed and pulled him down with her. Until after Sue went to bed, Sam was silent. They were both mostly silent.

She ran her fingers over silly, meaningless parts of his body, her fingers wound around his fingers, her choppy breathing danced along Jake's earlobes. Jake told her stories, then, of all of the times Wyatt had made him feel special, made him feel important, and he knew that she was listening.

She bit her lip to keep from crying, but she listened, as he told her about all of the moments that he had cherished, moments that were gone forever. He hoped that talking about it would show her that it was okay, that he wanted to know what she was thinking and feeling, even if she could make no more sense of it than he could. She did not reciprocate, with words, but every indrawn breath and gentle touch felt soothing, felt like a benediction washing over his skin.

When the house fell silent in the deepest part of the night, she cried, and then, he knew what she was feeling. Her tears were silent, hidden, though her body shook as she cried for the loss and for the pain she was feeling. Her tears were gone by the time the sun rose, though she said that she was tired. She had hardly moved, not in all the hours they'd been here. Before she fell asleep, Jake was starting to worry about pressure spots.

He need not have worried, because once she cried herself to sleep, the movement started. She could not get comfortable, and Jake spent most of the night trying to help her find a space and a way to relax.

By the time midnight rolled around, Sam had shoved all the blankets down. By 12:32, she was lying diagonally. She would wake up, like she was reaching the surface of a lake, cry out, inhale, and roll over.

Jake, for his part, tossed his pillow on the floor when it started to slide into the crack between the bed and the wall for the sixth time.

The next time he looked at the clock it was 2:46. He reached over for the water bottle, and tipped it back. Sam hit him in the face when she scooted over, reaching out for him, only to hit him in the process. He slid a hand towards her, and let her cuddle up to him. The even tempo of her breathing did not slow his heartbeat.

It was a moment later that he realized Sam was awake. Her body was tense, as she clung to him, slick with sweat. "I need you." Sam whispered, "And I'm so sorry." 

This wasn't her wrongdoing to be sorry for. Jake scooted over, and pulled her gently, over him, kicking the blankets down off of the edge of the bed. The sheet pulled from between them as Sam pushed up on shaking limbs and settled herself into his embrace. 

Jake ran his hand firmly up her back, pushing up her tank top as he went. Her skin was covered in goosebumps. This emotional pain was manifesting physically, in ways that made him sick to his stomach. Jake pressed down, let his touch become intentional and calming. "You're safe, Sam. It's just me, touching you. That's all." 

"It feels like my skin is going to peel off in layers, like my every atom is exposed." Sam breathed, and Jake felt her eyes shut out the sensations that her vision in the dark room only served to heighten. "I..." He heard the panic in that one word, and helped her center, quickly, with a soft sound that she could cling to, could count upon to be as real as the beat of her heart and the calming motion of his touch. 

"It won't." Jake promised. And even if it did, it would only be them, here, to see the layers fall away. The first few times she had needed a hug, it hadn't been an issue of discussion. It just was something that happened. But he was so afraid to hurt her, one night a few days ago, that she had simply told him that being held properly made her feel like her body, her mind, were in working order. It made her feel safe, and Jake desperately wanted to do that for her, to be that for her. 

He held her long after she fell asleep against his heart. Her breathing was even for the first time in hours. Feelings of tenderness were at war with the anger he felt at Wyatt? How was it possible to see such trust and care, to feel it, and then, at the same time, for that trust and love to make the anger stronger? Had it been him, he would not have cared what Wyatt was up to, but Sam cared. 

Sam cared. He cared. It was personal, too, because of everything else that had been going on. But the personal implications for him, with Brynna, were minimal. And yet, they were incredibly profound. Jake realized, that somehow, the last vestiges of boyhood had fallen away today. It hurt, and it was confusing, but he knew, that somehow, he had emerged from that ten acre a much different person.

What would this mean for them? What did this mean, today, now, in this moment, with Sam in his arms, in the middle of the night and nothing left to fight but his own heart? 

Wyatt had been his idol. Wyatt hadn't had a son, in those days, and he'd very much wanted to be special to someone. Wyatt had taught him what it was to be special to someone, special in a way that was...paternal. Fraternal. Something different from the special that Sam made him feel, though no less cherished. Wyatt had helped him to learn to rope, to learn that he was more than "Six" more than "Baby Bear" more than someone defined by his family or his birth order. Wyatt had shown him that, one day, he could be one heck of a rancher, a good man, a good husband, a good parent. Wyatt had done it by being his example. He knew his own father too well, well enough that he hadn't been able to see him as a hero.

Wyatt had served as an example, a hero in a hat, a real hero, one that lived his life for the people and the animals that mattered most. All Jake's life, he had been shown, been told, that love was a verb. You didn't say you loved people. How could a simple word even matter? You showed people you loved them. You put their needs above your own, as best you could, and tried to understand how they saw the world. 

Now, that example had been ripped away. No good rancher involved people that had no clue what they were doing around his horses to score with some chick. Jake had no doubt that Brynna and Wyatt were burning up the sheets. He wasn't going to mention that conclusion to Sam, because she didn't need to hear it. Dallas' words when he'd first visited home made sense. Brynna was the shenanigans, and Wyatt was acting like a lovesick fool. 

No good husband tossed aside vows he'd made to his wife, to the child she'd given him.

No good father went on a date while his daughter was in the hospital.

The idea that Wyatt had been carrying on while Sam had been trying to calm Jake down made Jake's blood boil.She'd been focused on Jake that night, his needs, putting others before herself. To know that her father, the one man in this world who was supposed to be backing her up, didn't have Sam's needs at the top of his list angered Jake. It was that that made Jake realize something. Wyatt wasn't a hero.

Heroes were people who were faced with choices and made the right one, even when they wanted to do some other thing. Wyatt, by the barest of definitions, was no hero.

_Tell me I was dreaming_

_That you didn't leave me here to cry_

_You didn't say_

_You don't love me anymore_

_It was just my imagination telling lies_

_Tell me that you didn't say goodbye_

_Tell Me I was Dreaming_ , Travis Tritt

Sam woke up with a start, in a cold, sickly sweat.

She just had to get out of here. She had to get out of this city. She had to get out of this space. She felt like she was jumping out of her own skin.

It didn't help that today was an Edye day. Even so, she could not bring herself to leave the bed, prepare for Edye's daily dose of negativity. She often tried to prepare for Edye out of fear, to forestall criticism and the tension that rose in her body  every time she saw her. 

Jake didn't know, but she knew her behaviors had reverted to the way they had been in the rehab. He wanted to know where she had learned to cry silently, when previously, her tears had been loud and consuming. She'd learned to cry silently in desperation, staring at the wall, hoping that Matrona wouldn't hear, or the nurses wouldn't make a note of it. She felt like she was back in rehab, her heart felt more broken. She felt trapped in her body, as though she was aching and feverish.

Sam turned and fell back to sleep, waking just moments later.Gram hadn't yet started breakfast, and her toes were hot. About to roll over and go back to sleep before chores, Sam felt pain spread out throughout her body.

Oddly enough, her heart hurt the most. Reality crashed down upon her, as it had countless times the dreams had barely chased away. It all came back, even the answer to the question her mind was asking her heart. She knew why she was so very sad, so very brokenhearted. It was all there again. Sam hated this moment, out of all the ones after the accident. It had happened so many times. All of the times before, she had wanted nothing more than to sleep forever, nothing more than to be away from everything, but she couldn't get away.

She heard the door open as Edye barged in, heard the woman switch on the daily barrage of awful noise. Her eyes fell on Jake's sleeping form, and Sam was awash with misery. Looking at her best friend hurt.  He was in so much pain. She could not spare him this pain. 

Yesterday, Sam knew it had taken everything in him not to rail at her father. Sam had felt the tension in his body when Dad had revealed he'd been with the woman instead of her while she'd been stuck in the hospital. Jake was seconds away, or he had been, from beating the absolute stuffing out of Dad. It was a horrible realization, to know that there was such hurt between them, that Jake was so hurt. Sam's heart started to race when she thought of the choice Dad had made.

She quickly slipped from the room so as to get to the bathroom before the tears fell. She felt the steel in her spine as Edye rapped sharply on the door. She could not cry now, could not let emotions show, even as she wanted to get away from all of this more than she had in weeks.

_Sometimes everything is wrong_

_Now it's time to sing along_

_When your day is night alone_

_Hold on, hold on_

_If you feel like letting go, h_ _old on_

 _If you think you've had too much of_ _this life_

_Well hang on_

_Everybody Hurts_ , REM

Bile rose inside of him. "You don't need to come." He could not stand one more second of being in the same room as this person. He could not stand the joy and the hate he saw on her face when the brokenness rolled off of Sam in waves. 

Sam nearly dropped the toast she wasn't eating as he spoke to Edye.  _Thank you._

Jake tried for nonchalance. _Hate her._

The woman herself turned her beady eyes on him, a calculating look in her eyes. 

Jake continued, "What's the difference between waiting here or waiting there?"

The atmosphere felt oppressive, and he knew that it had to change.

Edye looked at Sam, and summarily dismissed her.

That angered Jake. How anyone could look at Sam and dismiss her baffled him. Strangers, and even their family, didn't give her the time of day, or the consideration that was and always would be her right. She didn't demand it, and that worried him. 

People seemed to be discounting her, dismissing her, left and right. How could anyone not look at her and really see her? She was worn down right now, but she gave and gave of herself. She gave, to these people, and not a soul reached back out, and thanked her. They acted like she should be thanking them. 

He'd be damned if he wasn't going to use foolishness like Edye's and Wyatt's to his advantage. Sam's fatigue was evident in every line of her body, but Jake hoped that he wasn't imagining that some if it left her body as Edye seemed to think over his words.

Sam was fiddling with her pill bottles, twisting the lids, looking down into the amber depths of the bottles and considering the contents. She poured out a handful into her hand, and seemed to be very interested in them. Her eyes closed, and after a second, she opened them, and, with shaking hands, put the extra pills back in the bottle and went back to lining up the pills in front of her paper plate. 

Worst of all, she would not look at him. Sam was freaking Jake out, and he needed to get her alone, talk to her, something to figure out the look in her eyes. He'd never seen it before.

Edye was lazy, and careless, but Jake wasn't above exploiting that failing to do what was best for Sam, best for them both. She deserved consideration, respect, and the right to feel like she didn't have to be so damn sorry all of the time. She'd apologized countless times to Edye today, countless times that had make Jake tense. Edye was the one who should have apologized to Sam for handing her things incorrectly so that they dropped to the floor before Sam could grip them, and on, and on, but Sam didn't see it. 

He missed the time that they had spent, together, just being together, without the eyes of an outsider there to analyze everything and anything that passed between them as though they could understand their years of friendship in a few months.

"Alright." With that, Edye tossed a bowl into the sink, and Jake watched as Sam cringed at the loud clatter and an unspoken conversation passed between them with the bite of her teeth on her lips and the tilt of his head. She was wondering how on earth Edye had given in so quickly.

Jake shrugged.

He didn't know, and he didn't care, not when he saw some of the clouds in Sam's eyes dissipate.

_I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars_

_On a collision course_

_I am a satellite_

_I'm out of control_

_Don't Stop Me Now_ , Queen

Sam felt in control, for the time in days, even if the emotion was riddled with worry.

Sam pushed the chair down the hallway. She had a choice. Turn left, and go see Ella, or head straight and get out of this place. After a second, she flexed her fingers, and put her hand on the right wheel's hand rim. Just then, she changed her mind, and used left her hand to match the propulsion, meaning that she would go forward and not turn.

She made the choice she wanted to make, not the one that was expected of her. It felt like sneaking out of the house, climbing down the tree, gunning her car on an empty road when the windows were down, just at that moment when the panic kicked in and she knew she had to slow her car down or risk crashing. 

It should have been fairly easy to sneak around in a crowded hospital. She was in-between wards, off-grid, as it were, unwatched. She had to make it down one elevator ride, and though one checkpoint to get where she wanted to go.

Jake stopped, and tilted his head to the left.  _You lost? Or...what?_

Sam filled him in, "Change of plans."

Jake grinned. _Brat._

The silent communication made her stomach tighten and flip. There was nothing amiss as the footfalls that had matched her pace continued. There was a spark of energy between them.

Jake nodded, somehow understanding that she was skipping her session to go and hang out with the residents in the extended stay unit and paint.

A dark image popped into her mind, calling her to entertain it, but she dismissed it forcefully. It was a meaningless errant thought, she knew. Thoughts only mattered if you accepted them. She could think something and let it pass by.

They got in the elevator. Sam pushed away thoughts of the elevator door crushing her between the heavy weight. Sam was relived to find that they were alone, as Jake pressed the correct button.

There was an instant sense of shared goals between them that made her feel like they were younger again, when Jake was still in high school, and they'd cut school to race across the playa, showing up at home when school was just letting out. They'd only done it once, when Max had the day off, but it was one experience she'd shared with the straitlaced Jake Ely that she would never forget. They had never been found out. 

She felt like an errant child, doing something she wanted to do, even as she knew it was wrong.Her heart was pounding, and her ears were ringing with apprehension. Breaking the rules, the expectations, was like having a bolt of inspiration and caffeine, even as her knees were visibly shaking.

Her cover story would be this, she decided: Ella didn't know what time they had gotten in, Sam had never clarified, because she had had idle thoughts of never really coming back here. She could have kicked herself for her silliness. Anyway, Ella had no idea, and she didn't need to know if they're had been an issue with their return that prevented her appearance at her session today.

She was just so tired. PT had been almost useless. Kyla had been harder on her because Sam wasn't trying, or so Kyla insisted. Sam insisted that she was, but it was a lie. She wasn't. She was tired, and she wanted to sleep. She couldn't help but realize that none of this mattered. There was no point to any of this, because her goals didn't matter.  Apathy rose within her, and she had to stop herself from asking Kyla was she was even in session.

She kept thinking about falling off the mat, falling off the treadmill, and sinking into blackness. Sam knew that once she got beyond the pain, that it would feel good to beyond all of this. They were dark thoughts, but Sam found solace in them, at least at first. She had fallen into the thoughts, held onto them. 

Sam knew that she was suicidal, again, at least having suicidal idiations. She wasn't actively looking for ways to end  her life, just to get away from all of this. Sam couldn't find a single solution, but she had put the pills away this morning, and had looked both ways when crossing the parking lot. Sam tried to be stronger than her thoughts. They came, and they went. At least now she wasn't fantasizing about syringes. They were fleeting thoughts anyhow.

All her life, she had done what her father expected because she loved him, wanted to honor him. She had done it here in San Francisco because she'd wanted to go home. She had thought that he was doing all he could to help her prepare for that, deep in her heart, she had believed that to be the case. Now knowing that it wasn't, Sam was determined to do just as she pleased. Dad was not putting his all in towards a shared goal.

They could go their own ways. If she had to go her own way, she would do it on her own terms. If she could have no right to expect honesty and commitment from him, he had no right to expect it from her. She would go forward on her own terms, or not at all. She just had no idea what her own terms were, and she needed time to figure them out, if she ever got to the point where she could think about her father's abandonment without crying. Even now, tears were only held at bay by the sheer force of her will, the will that was telling her that moving on without her father was the only way to survive, to make a place for herself in this new world.

Sam wasn't going to be able to explain to Ella how her family worked. It sounded crass and cold to say that she was terrified of losing the ranch, but that was a factor she could not ignore. It wasn't the money or the income. It was simply that generations of her family had been caretakers for that land, and Sam, come hell or high water, had always known that she would be next. She felt that in leaving her, her father had taken things from her he had no real right to take without telling her.

She knew, from the day that she was old enough to sit a saddle and hold some reins, that her father's land wasn't something she had option of walking away from. It was in her blood. She was going to be the first woman in her family to take up that mantle without the supremacy of a some man telling her what to do. Sam had always figured that Jake would have his own stuff to do. In moving on without her, Dad had ripped her dreams away from her. He had taken away the goals and the reasons that had kept her going. 

But now. Now, her father had walked away, and taken the land with him. She felt that her very home had been taken away. Sam could not quantify her emotion, but she knew that she had lost everything that had ever mattered. Her father had discounted her input and her role on a ranch that she'd been helping to run in increasing levels of responsibility her entire life. He didn't need her, anymore. 

And, God in Heaven, that hurt. 

_Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm_

_I grew up like my daddy did, my grandpa cleared this land_

_When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand_

_And grandma's on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand_

_Sometimes I hear her singing "Take me to the Promised Land"_

_When you take away a man's dignity he can't work his fields and cows_

_Rain on the Scarecrow_ , John Mellencamp 

 

The elevator door slid open. The coast was clear, though Sam checked to be sure, much to Jake's amusement. No one from the adolescent ward ever came to the geriatric unit, not even the extended stay ward, so they should be golden.

Sam would have just a bit of time to spend with the old people, and things wouldn't be okay, things would never be okay, but at least, she would get ten minutes of peace. She knew that she was angry, that she was avoiding the whole situation through her anger, but she had no other recourse. Anger was the only emotion that allowed her to leave the bed.

She had nothing left, and the loss was absolutely crippling. She felt like she had nothing left inside of her to cope. She felt nothing. When she retreated into her own head, there were no comfy spots to while away the hours. No, her happy thoughts and places couldn't take her past the thoughts that popped up just as she got lost in a day dream. Thoughts of her horses would bring up thoughts of that person riding her horses, which summarily shot those daydreams to hell. She could not think of her land, because her father had made things about that very clear. 

Sam was a bit lost in her own head, as they moved along, and neglected to pay attention. Jake, thankfully, made a soft sound that caused Sam to look up. Sam would have tripped, had she been walking, as she rounded the corner, saw a rounded brunette, and spun quickly around, rolling away as fast as she could manage. Jake whispered, as he followed suit, "Was that...?"

A group of medical students were walking and talking, Sam knew, feeling the buzz of being in one of the best hospitals on the West Coast. She dodged a girl in a pencil skirt quickly, and Sam thought she saw the girl try to diagnose her as she moved away, wheels turning in her tired but excited eyes.

Sam knew she would get past the wonder of applying her new skills sooner or later. There had been people in the ward like her, people who were able to forget what they'd once had and acted like the skills they were gaining could replace and be better than the older ones. Everything was new to them, but Sam hadn't been one of those fakers.

They were moving quickly, now, back in the direction they came, down the hall again. There was only one way out. "Yes." Sam said, hitting the elevator button five or six times in quick succession, "Come on, come on..."

There were people around, but not enough to hide them from the approaching woman. Sam had to get away, she had to get off of this floor. She had nowhere else to go, but she knew she had to get away. She couldn't think beyond getting away. Not even the old people could be a respite today. 

Jake looked uneasy, "She's heading this way." His whisper was a bucket of ice down her spine, and what's more, she knew that she had been well and truly caught. Finally, she heard the elevator approach.

Sam looked at Jake. She was completely up the creek without a paddle, if the speech therapist caught her up here on this restricted floor, not to mention caught her up here when she was supposed to be having a session with Ella.

Just as Jake was about to speak, a large crowd got of the elevator, obscuring them as the practically dove onto it, just as the door shut. The car was once again empty. Sam's heart was pounding, "I am so not a juvenile delinquent."

"Yeah." Jake said, "We'll work on your sneaking skills."

The car coated down the shaft, and deposited them in the lobby, "Let me push..." Jake stepped up behind her and took over.

Sam's heart was racing. She didn't feel bad about leaving, in that moment. She felt relief. She felt as though she had gotten away. She felt a profound release within her soul as she crossed the threshold, let the muggy, gritty, city air wash over her.

The valet smiled at them, and Sam tried to smile back.

_They said you can't leave_

_She said yes I will_

_They said don't see him_

_She said his name is Bill_

_She's on a roll and it's all uphill_

_Wild One_ , Faith Hill

Within ten minutes, they were loaded up and in the Scout. When they left the parking lot, Sam exhaled.

She didn't have to face her father, not today, not even in the confines of a helping relationship.

There were drawbacks to sneaking off, though. "To Sue's, I guess, and the Claw?" Sam said, resigned to the fate her choice had created.

Edye was probably the one person in her life that she could easily say she disliked. It was hard for anyone to understand why. On the surface, it looked fine, and Sam knew she was probably inflating the hurt in her own mind. It didn't change much for her to realize that, though. It changed nothing about the fact that her newfound relief dissipated when she realized that she had nowhere to go. She had nowhere to go.

_You have been a refuge for me_

_A tower of strength in the face of the enemy_

_Enemy, enemy_

_Refuge,_  Matisyahu

Jake shook his head, "I have a better idea." He drove a small way Sam looked around, wondering where the yuppie/spy with three cell phones was today when she saw where they had ended up.

Sam looked at Jake, "Here?" Sam looked over at the book between them, the one Jake had been reading in the waiting room. It was his favorite book. The cover was creased, but the Face on the cover was watching them, as He always was. He was always Watching.

Jake parked the truck, but not before he saw her looking at the book."If we're going to commit thoughtcrime, we're going to be very doubleplus ungood about it." Jake replied, shutting off the Scout.

 "Now, let's be goodthinkful and you can buy me something at the Chestnut Tree Cafe." Jake asserted, when she was standing in-between his feet, reaching behind her to find her chair before she sat down. 

She couldn't help but smile at him.  _What a nerd._

Jake just shrugged.  _So?_

The city street was busy, and Sam could almost see Sue's doorstep from where she was parked by the Scout, her wheel blocked by a jagged cut in the sidewalk.

Jake was such a closeted nerd. Underneath all those broody silences was a closeted book nerd who read books at a rapid pace and made dorky references just to try to get her to smile. He was liable to start going on about Plato soon. One day, she would out him for his bookish ways. He'd just shrug and pick up another book, because Jake didn't care about much other than what he knew to be right. It was hard to think about that, now that literally everything was wrong.

Jake was joyful about their departure for Starbucks, but Sam knew better. She knew what this was. All that rang in her mind was that she had avoided her own Room One by selling out not only herself, but him. "Under the spreading chestnut tree I sold you and you sold me." She quoted, and Jake quirked his eyebrows.

She read the soft correction in his eyes, even though she knew he didn't really mean it.  _Underneath the spreading chestnut tree I loved him and he loved me._

He didn't get it. She had sold him out, sold his integrity along with her own when she'd walked away from Ella, and she could not bring herself to feel badly about it. No, Sam felt nothing but a growing sense of relief. They were gone away, gone, from Edye, from their homes. Somehow, that relief only underscored the fact that she literally had nowhere to go.

Jake started to say something, as his hand brushed her shoulder as she tried to stay centered, literally, as she crossed a curb cut and felt like she was going to fall out of her chair.

They approached the door, "I can't get gin and cloves, but I'd settle for an apple muffin." He held the door, and leaned back as Sam pushed up on the rims of the wheels abruptly, popping a slight wheelie to hop over the ledge. The first 300 times she'd popped a wheelie, it had hurt. It had scared and angered her. She hadn't understood that she would need wheelies in the world. She had told Kyla that she refused to be someone's idea of a joke, a trick pony. She needed to get out of the chair, not learn how to use it. Something like a million wheelies later, Sam knew that it was not a trick. It was a tool.

To another person, they probably looked like any random two people off of the streets, taking refuge in a cafe.

Sam felt sick, when she realized that they weren't some couple, here to steal away some time over Chai tea and muffins. They were two people desperate for some escape, some semblance of control. Where other people use this place to create connections, for them, this was a war room. Eric Blair had known what he was doing.

War was Peace.

Survival was Death.

_And if we don't hide here_

_They're going to find us_

_If we don't hide now_

_They're going to catch us where we sleep_

_And if we don't hide here_

_They're going to find us_

_Spies,_  Coldplay

"D'you want to talk about it?" Sam asked, softly. Jake didn't know what to say, when Sam continued, "What do I do?" The restaurant was not as crowded as normal in the off hours. Jake quickly bought a coffee, a plain tea, and a fritter. Sam frowned, but he hadn't meant that he was going to let her pay. And anyway, they had a shared bank account. It was supposed to be for the business, but when Trudy started writing Sam checks instead of handing her cash, it had just been more effective to use it as it had been intended. So, really, money was money, hers, his, whoevers. 

The dull hum of the few patrons provided cover for a discussion they both knew was coming. Jake watched Sam fumble as she removed the lid from her tea, watched as the steam contrasted the cool sheen on her face. Her father's betrayal literally made her sick. Her senses were haywire, and her immune system was not cooperating. Her body was a system, and that system was a under massive amounts of stress. Jake could see the tension on her face as easily as he felt in her body last night. If Wyatt's actions had any sort of repercussions on her health, Jake did not know what he would do.

He prided himself on not being violent. His father had shown him, from the time of his birth, that words were the only real way to make progress, words, and kind actions. Hitting someone never solved anything. It created problems.

But, in his heart of hearts, he wanted Wyatt to feel something, feel anything like the pain he'd inflicted on not only him, but also on Sam. Jake wanted Wyatt to know that he had hurt them, but he wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of telling him. He thought Wyatt should just know, just be have the presence of his mind to understand that his underhanded, lowdown, actions had hurt his family. No, the man was too selfish and immature to see it.

Jake looked across the tiny table, and watched Sam stir her tea. He knew that she was so upset and ill that she could barely taste anything because she used twice the amount of sugar she normally did. The tell clued him into a lot that was going on inside of her body and her heart.

Wyatt had dealt her such a blow that her physical being was recoiling from everything just to protect her from more emotional upset. This was the worst thing that could be happening. "I don't know what we should do." Sam began, surprising him as she called his attention 

Sam sighed, "I...can't tell Sue how bad it is." She stirred the sugar in with a black stick, and Jake watched her breathe, choppily, once, "She's putting us up, you know, and if she found out that Dad..."

Sam was putting her relationships with Seth, Adam, Nate, Quinn, and to a lesser extent, Kit, on top of what she thought her mother's relationship with Sue must have been like. None of their brothers would put up with someone who had hurt their sister. It wasn't that simple, though. Sam had nothing to do with this, and Sue , for as little as Jake knew her, wouldn't take this out on Sam. He didn't know how she would feel. 

"If she knew that your father is with Brynna, it would have nothing to do with you." Jake knew that. His own coffee was before him. Jake forced out words he didn't dare otherwise say, "She wants you to stay here."

Sue made no secret that she wanted Sam to live with her, here, in the city, for as long as she wanted to stay. Jake was sick over the idea, but he knew that Sam was now considering it because of her father's actions and inactions. He didn't want to leave her, didn't think he could. He no longer felt strongly about going home. He only felt that they had to stay together, and was at a loss as to what her choice might mean for them. 

"That's...an option." Sam whispered, "Should we?" Jake could only begin to breathe again when he noticed her pronoun.

 _We_. She expected that if she stayed, that he would stay with her.

He thought for a second, and found that his anger welled up. Wyatt had no right to take her home from her, no right to infringe upon her connect to the land that she had vowed to protect, to live in harmony with. Wyatt had no right to infringe upon the things she knew in her soul. Jake swallowed. "It's not something I've thought about."

Sam's words were hoarse, but honest. Her green eyes met his seriously, and he saw the grit and the fire bloom within them. "I won't stay without you."

"Sam..." Jake understood. He would not go anywhere without her. He knew from experience that he didn't have the ability. Just because he understood, though, didn't give him the right to make her feel that they were a unit, without actually coming to that conclusion in this place, in this time, and stage of their lives. They were a unit, but if there was something she needed that he couldn't give her, she had to go find it without him. He wasn't going to hold her back again.

"I _won't_." Sam said, as though he were stupid. He heard what she did not say.  _I can't._

The bald honesty in her eyes scared him. 

Her words grew so so soft that he almost missed them. It was clear that she didn't want the scruffy grad student hacking away on her laptop to overhear their conversation, though Jake doubted she would because of the headphones she wore that were larger than her skull. Jake could hear the dance music from their table feet away, and watched as a key popped off of her laptop, leaving her to scowl and pop it back on with a resolute click.

"You'd never stay, though, because you have a life. I have to go back there, go back and look at that woman in my mother's house, in my mother's bed, and I don't know if I..." Sam swallowed, "I think this is killing me." The teacup shook within her hands as she set it down.

Was she suicidal or was the pain overwhelming her? Or was she suicidal because the pain was overwhelming? Did the difference matter? Jake finally understood the look in her eyes that had flared like a warning beacon all day. Sam felt...like death. She felt despair. Utter hopelessness. 

Jake took her hand then, desperate to feel the thump of her pulse against her slim wrist. He pressed down with his thumb, softly, so that their heartbeats would merge for the faintest of seconds and so that she could focus on something that might help her pain, "No." There were no other words.

 

She couldn't go and leave him. She had promised to never leave him, never leave him. He could feel her heartbeat inside of his own, and he knew without question that if she was gone, that there would be nothing left to live for. Her heartbeat was strong, full of the future she deserved, no matter the crappy hands of cards they were playing right now. 

That wasn't going to happen. Sam didn't speak, so Jake did, "You can't let them take everything you've worked for, and I won't let him take you from me."

Her eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of seconds, and he knew that the connection between their hands was consuming her entire attention.

She opened her eyes, and Sam looked directly at him. Reading something he couldn't name in his eyes, she faltered, "We're powerless, don't you see? Meaningless pawns in a game that we couldn't see until this weekend. Or something. I'm not as poetic as you are, and I..." Jake heard the part that she didn't say. She didn't joke that she was the artist, the creative one."I think this is going to be the end of me."

Jake thought about how much he wanted to kill Wyatt Forester, and knew that, one way or another, this would be the end of him, too, if he lost her. They sat in silence, and watched the world go by. Sam didn't finish her tea, and Jake's fritter made his stomach turn. Slowly, the cafe started to fill, and they had to head back, out into the world.

 _A human vulnerability d_ _oesn't mean that I am weak_

_That I am weak, I am weak,_

_I am weak, I am weak, weak, 'c_ _ause all my life I've been controlled,_

_You can't have peace without a war,_

_Without a war, without a war._

_Power & Control_, Marina and the Diamonds

Sam was restless. In any other situation she would have lost herself, her worries, her cares, out on the range, in the lows of the Lost Canyon, on the highs of the playa. That was no longer an option. Now, it would never be and she was once again confronted with the fact that she had nothing.

She wanted to run. She wanted to leave. Not even Jake's presence by her side and in her soul could still the apprehension that bloomed within her as they made their way down the block, after having finished the tea, and watching the clock tick like the timer on a bomb. 

The Claw was sitting on the porch, annoyed and looking ticked off. What else was new? Sam ignored her as she made her way inside. Edye would make no secret of her thoughts, even if they weren't wanted.

The retreat at the cafe hadn't been much of a refuge, hadn't helped her to find a solution, but it had helped her to feel Jake. She felt like there was a wall between her and Jake, one that she hadn't meant to construct. Sam wondered if he could hear her. Could he see the thoughts inside her head, the things she couldn't force away? On one hand, she wanted him to know. Then again, she didn't really. He was in enough of his own pain. He could not bear hers. It was hers alone, and she couldn't even bear it herself right now.

"I called you aunt." The Claw batted her enhanced eyelashes to good affect, "I was so worried." Her beauty caused Sam to pause, only because she never knew how someone could fool everyone into thinking they were so nice, simply on the basis of good looks and a winning smile. She followed Sam inside, and Sam tried to move a bit faster to put space between them. She did not like the Claw's tone. Perhaps it was her headache, but she felt threatened. She didn't think for one second that Edye had been worried. More likely, she was angry that Jake had asked her not to come along to therapy. It probably shocked Edye that Jake wasn't eating out of the palm of her claw.

"What?" Sam said, "What?" Jake was looking at her, carefully, asking what they ought to do. Sam thought they needed more information. Then, they could make a choice. Jake put his hand on her left hip, just below her waist. It was nothing more than a hug, a way to support her weight as she knew he knew that she wasn't going to be sitting anytime soon. She didn't sit down much when the Claw was around.

The Claw was on a roll, giving an Oscar worthy performance, "You're late home from therapy, Sammy." Sam tried not to grit her teeth at the patronizing nickname, "If you can't manage something so simple, why, I'll be sure to come along from now on. I can't believe that you would make me worry."

Sam looked at the clock and her heart hit her stomach. Even with accounting the time for the session she'd skipped, they were...oh. She'd messed up the hands. She guessed she was still having trouble with that. They were only 15 minutes late. What was this? "Edye, we're a bit behind, but..."

"But nothing!" Edye cried, grating on Sam's nerves, and ears. "You didn't answer your texts, and you didn't answer your phone. Finally, I just decided that something had to have happened." The Claw spoke, eyeing Jake.

Sam was furious. There was nothing unusual about being a few minutes late, not in this city. This was about making her look and feel stupid. There was nothing more to it. Edye hadn't been in control of her for 15 minutes, and it was the end of the world. The phone rang before Sam could speak. Edye answered, and Sam loathed her for her presumption and her assertions.

The woman shot Sam a triumphant look, "She just walked in." She passed Sam the phone, "It's for you."

"Well, then, maybe she should have answered it." Jake said, and Sam was proud of him for saying what they were both thinking. His words carried more weight with the Claw than her own did, no matter the reason. Sam's mental fog gave way to anger.

Not knowing who it was, Sam said, "Hello?" She was glad that the volume was up enough so that Jake could hear it from where he stood behind her. The idea of repeating this conversation filled her with dread and tired her out, even before she knew who it was, or what they would say.

"Sam." Sam exhaled. It was Sue, "I'm sure there's no national crisis because you ran late at the hospital, but please do reply to your texts." Sue said, "It would have saved me a conversation with Edye, which I think we all would like to avoid."

"Yes, Ma'am." Sam said, not seriously at all, though her tone didn't shift. She was still worn down, still tired. Life had forced her out of bed, and now, it had given her a reason to climb right back in. Her tone was as lifeless and forced as it had been weeks ago. "I'll go to my room."

"You do that!" Sue said, playing along to what she assumed was a game, "And don't call me ma'am, or I'll really punish you, and make you come shopping." Sam finished the call, and did just that.

_Too late, too much givin'_

_I've seen a lot of life and I'm damn sick of livin' it_

_I keep hopin' that you will pass my way_

_And someday if your dreams are leavin' you_

_I'll still believe in you_

_Tomorrow is Today_ , Billy Joel

The forks scraped resolutely across the plates, and the ice slowly melted within the glasses, the tense environment not enough to keep them frozen, though Sam thought it was a close call.

The afternoon had passed slowly.

She didn't want to think about tomorrow.

She didn't want to think about today.

The moments just seemed to go on forever, and she knew she was hurting Jake, that was all she did, but she couldn't seem to help it, couldn't find a way to show him how much she could not deal.

Sue broke the silence, "You know, I'm not good with this adult thing. I'm really not." She paused, a smile floating across her face as she continued, "I never have been.Louise and I used to fight because she was so mature. A born mother under all of her hippie leanings, but me? I prided myself on staying young. I'm the real hippie." Sue said, spearing a green been she'd burned and at the same time overcooked, "So, I thought I could handle this, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Ha-handle what?" Sam asked.

Jake had tugged her out of bed to eat a meal that Sue had prepared. She didn't want to eat. He was such an idiot. Sometimes she hated that he was there to watch her as she thought her thoughts, watch her as she curled up into a ball and zoned out. She wanted to hate him, because he was the only reason that she knew she was supposed to be happy. She looked at Jake, and she thought, "I'm supposed to be happy!"

Sam wasn't, and she hated Jake because he reminded her of all the things she had no right to expect anymore, the things that had been removed from her life, and all of the things she would never have ever again. She stopped herself a thousand times from screaming at Jake, screaming at him when he tried to make her laugh, scream at him when he finally gave up on talking and tried to match her in a staring contest. Finally, she supposed he'd gotten mad at her, and had rolled over to his side of the bed and stared out the window, the space between them feeling like a gulf. She supposed she should be glad. If he hated her, he wouldn't miss her.

"I did get a call from the hospital. I tried to tell them that it was all a mistake, that you were held up in traffic. It was your therapist, Sam, calling to ask how your trip was going. Of course she couldn't tell me you weren't there, and she tried to cover her tracks. And yours. For academic purposes, what would your father do in this situation?"

Sue seemed interested in the reply, though Sam couldn't make herself regret what they had done. That slowly sipped tea was the only reason that she was sitting here talking, and not having sone kind of breakdown in a padded room with no windows. She had Jake to thank for that, or blame, she supposed, but she wouldn't let him take this one, no matter how much his expression pleaded with her to let him do the talking. She still had a voice.

"He would take my horse." Sam replied, the only emotion she thought she could still feel slicing through her as she thought about her horses. She tramped that thought down, and tried instead not to think at all.

"Well, we can't keep a horse in the living room." Sue said, looking at Jake, and then back at Sam. "So, if you weren't having your head examined, where were you? Somewhere cool like the Ansel Adams museum?"

Sue set her wineglass down, and the thunk of the glass made Sam angry. Wine was wrong. Still, she had no right to tell Sue not to drink because it made her uncomfortable because she had no rights anywhere. She had no rights, and nothing left to be taken away.

"No." Sam figured that honesty wouldn't hurt, simply because there was nothing left to protect with a lie. "The Starbucks on the corner." Sam said, and she saw Jake's eyes widen at her matter of fact tone. He was probably thinking that she had guts. That was a lie, but she would never be able to make him believe otherwise.

"You mean to tell me you had free run of the city, and you went to Starbucks at the end of the street?" Sue was surprised. "I'll have to take a day and show you around. No one with any sense..." She straightened after trailing off, "Right. I'd read you the riot act, but you're dealing with a lot. Rule number one: I don't care where you go when you're together. Use the buddy system and tell me. That's it." Sue shot a look at Jake and snorted into the glass she picked up, her version of an adult discussion over, "You guys thinking you can bullshit the bullshitter is absurd."

"We didn't lie." Jake said, calmly. Sam didn't see why he cared to defend her. She wondered if he was perhaps protecting himself, but she remembered that all of the other times they'd snuck off, one way or another to see the wild horses, that he hadn't done anything like that. He'd let people think what they thought about him. Sam liked that about Jake. He simply didn't care what other people thought about him.

"No, but neglecting to tell em that my brother-in-law has a lover is something of a lie, don't you think?"

Sue replied, twirling her wine glass, the deep purple of the liquid, the red wine, sloshing against the glass. Sam wanted to knock the glass out of her Aunt's hand. Maybe people had lovers here, but at home, in Darton County, Sam corrected herself, a person didn't have a lover like some television series. People had honor. Except. She didn't. Self loathing rushed through her.

"No!" Sam replied, "She's just a fling! She has to be!" The words were hoarse, rusty. Sam felt fire rush through her blood, felt her fear ramp up, the lethargy barely lost under the flood of pounding heartbeats and rushing blood.

"Honey, he's...earned this." Sue said. Sam couldn't see beyond her emotions.

Blindly, under the table, the hand that had been digging into the flesh of her thigh, was wrapping around Jake's hand. Her pulse didn't slow, but at least she no longer felt like she was going to float away. The rough callouses on his hand pulled her head back into the world, forced her to swallow her tears and continue. Not even Sue heard her.

"Earned what?" Sam snapped, "The right to try and replace my mother? The right to parade some woman around like she has any right to his heart? It doesn't belong to her! Nothing about him does!"

Sue didn't see it. You gave your heart once, and you gave it for always, and once you did, it was wrong to try and take it back. She didn't even know how a person could move on, could just get over a person who was supposed to be the other half of their soul. Sam knew that there would never be room inside of her to love another person. That is, once she loved someone for the first time, if she ever could. There was hardly room for that one person in her heart once he came along. Where would she put him?

"She's a thief, and he's an adulterer!"

"Sam." Her Aunt's voice was softly chiding, "He will never replace Lou. Trust me, she was one of a kind." Sue said, "But the fact is, she's dead. I watched them put her in the ground, you know. She's gone, and he deserves someone to share his life with him."

Sam barely bit back a scream. Couldn't anyone hear her? Was she speaking Cantonese or something? French? Greek? Something? How could Sue not see what she clearly saw? How could Sue not see this whole situation for what it was? Isolation rent her heart again. Sue would never understand what she was trying to say. Sam didn't know what to say, but before she could reply, Jake cut her off with some vehemence, seemingly shocking Sue. Had she been thinking, Sam would have seen Jake's reply coming a mile away.

"He's a liar." Jake disagreed, "And we're the ones in the wrong. He was on a date, Sue, when she was in the ER? Did your brother-in-law mention that? Did he tell you that his girlfriend has made herself at home with Sam's horses and in Grace's home? Did he tell you that he lied to Sam the entire weekend, took off his wedding ring in the last second?" He spoke the words calmly, almost conversationally, but Sam knew him well enough to know that a quiet Jake Ely was an angry Jake Ely."Did he tell you that his girlfriend is barely out of college, and that she's clearly interested in his holdings for the government?"

Sue gathered her thoughts. No..."

Jake was even softer, still, but Sam saw the flecks of steel in his eyes, the ones that turned his warm brown eyes into the ones that he never turned on her. He never looked at her like that, but Sam knew that he could be a frightening man, with every soft word used like a knife. "Seems to me that you ought to get your facts square before coming at us." The thickening of his natural accent, the cadence that was anything but lazy, was another tell.

Sam didn't want him to hurt. Sue did not know Jake well enough to hear the hurt and the pain in his words, but Sam heard them, and it solidified her resolve. 

"Jake, Sue hasn't done anything wrong." Sam knew that that if Sue knew how serious it was for Dad, Sam wouldn't have anywhere to go, and she just didn't have the energy to find someplace else to go. She didn't even have her bank card to figure out what she would do, if she couldn't stay here. She would die before asking Dad for money, and she was nearly coming to the end of her slush fund. 

Sam saw clearly that Sue was on her father's side. She thought his actions were normal. It made sense in her world, but into in Sam's. Sue was putting her up as a favor to Dad. The tablecloth blurred in Sam's eyes, and she swallowed thickly. Her thoughts pulled her away again.

"So when you sit there, and you say he's earned this, ask yourself what's he earned." Jake still hadn't backed down, but his voice was less angry, now, like he was trying to teach somebody something he'd just realized they'd never been taught.

"Has he earned the right to run the ranch into the ground, to hurt his daughter in the church through his behavior, to dishonor his mother and his wife? If you think he's earned those things, then we'll never agree, and maybe I'm in the wrong, but you know, where I come from, nobody has that right."

Sam couldn't find the words, but Jake answered the question her broken heart was asking.  _Why does this matter anymore?_

His words were sure, but calm, and they sent a blanket of ice over Sam. "We need to know, Sam." He was resolute as he looked at her, and then back at her aunt. "We need to know if she's with us or against us."

"Jake, this isn't a war." Sue was looking at both of them very intently.

Sam looked at her Aunt, "No, it just feels like one." This was war, and she was losing. The only problem was that Sam didn't even have a white flag left to wave. This was going to kill her. War decimated the destitute and the weak.

_Yeah, a storm is threatening_   
_My very life today_   
_If I don't get some shelter_   
_Lord, I'm gonna fade away_

_War, children, yeah, it's just a shot away_   
_It's just a shot away_   
_War, children, yeah, it's just a shot away_   
_It's just a shot away, hey, yeah_

_Gimme Shelter,_  The Rolling Stones

 _Tick. Tick. Tick_.

Ella's clock never tocked.

It only went  _Tick. Tick. Tick._  

Sam knew why it was ticking just behind her shoulder. It was set up that way so Ella could time the visits, wrap them up, like her life was a neat package, and ship her on her way. Sam was determined not to be the one to break the silence. Once, she'd sat, staring for the entire session. Ella had stared right back. The session after that, Ella talked. Sam didn't say a word that day, instead she had watched the fog roll in and had wished that it would swallow her whole. Ella talked. After that, Ella didn't allow Sam to not talk, somehow.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick._ Another minute gone. 

Ella looked concerned, though she was trying not to show it as she sat, both feet on the floor in a chair across from Sam. Sam maintained her gaze over Ella's shoulder, and counted the seconds until she could leave. 

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Ella spoke, "You skipped your sessions yesterday, Sam." The therapist's face was devoid of any real emotion, other than a neutral curiosity. So Sam had skipped appointments with Ella and Dr. Francis. So what?

Hadn't they told her that Sam had gone home? Of course, Ella knew because she'd had to sign off on Sam's trip like she was felon on work release. Sam's face was level as she shared her cover story.

"We had to go home." She had agreed to be back by Monday morning, and she had been, but Ella didn't need to know that, when it was easily possible that she had just missed her appointment due to travel. She didn't need to know anything.

Ella smiled, and Sam realized her mistake. "We?" Ella looked interested.

She was oh so willing, Sam thought, to let her get away with ditching, something that should have had her placed back in the residential, because she had used a plural pronoun. Sam bit the inside of her cheek. Sam refused to give in. She had nothing to say. There was too much to feel to actually put them into words. She didn't have the energy left to feel. She had nothing.

"What happened?" Ella pressed. Sam tipped her chin. Ella got the message."Something you maybe didn't want to talk about? This is a safe space. We don't have to talk about it. We can talk about the weather, or you know, your trip, or..."

Sam had had enough of Ella's fake babbling. The woman knew exactly what she was doing, because it was working. "What exactly do you think happened, Ella?" Sam snapped, just wanting her not to talk about the weather. They were in San Francisco. It was somehow hot and muggy, and ugly and awful. The weather didn't change.

Ella thought for a second. "I never presume." Sam snorted. Ella did nothing but presume. "I take it your weekend was stressful. You're quite sharp this morning. Would you care to explore that?"

"No." Sam nearly spat the word, for once making eye contact with Ella so she could see that Sam was not playing into the woman's hands. Even if no one was listening, she could still keep her own silence. Why bother to speak if no one was going to hear her?

"I can respect that." Ella said, sociably, "Would you like to revisit your goal sheet?" E

lla reached for a sheet that everyone had to make when they were admitted to the facility after leaving the hospital. Sam thought it was the dumbest thing on the planet then, and she thought even less of it now. Then, all she had wanted to do was write, "LIVE" on it in big, bold marker, erasing the lines for short term goals and long terms goals, but that hadn't fit the parameters given to her, so she had rushed the entire thing, not willing to admit that the big bold "LIVE" was just a cover for another desire she was too weak to even admit to having.

Why should she even look at the thing? All of her goals and objectives had been predicated on a life she no longer had, a family that no longer existed, a home she no longer belonged in. She didn't need to revisit those goals. They had been based on the goal of being home at River Bend, doing the damn job she'd wanted since she was old enough to sit a saddle. It would be like time traveling, going back to a time, which was pointless, because she couldn't change time, no matter what sci-fi would make you believe. There were just some things that couldn't be helped. "No."

Ella was silent, and Sam got the idea that she was supposed to be thinking over her choices. "I'm not here to beg you to help yourself. You're a big girl. You can choose to make use of the time we have or not."

Ella picked up a pen, opened the file on the side table and began to write.

She looked at her like Sam was lost, like she was a huge annoyance, "There's the door."

"Fine." Sam reached over to grab her sweater, and started to shrug it on. Even in this humidity, she was freezing. Sam would never admit it, but she'd felt exposed and vulnerable in her thin shirt. Sam wondered if a person could see the faint ridges of healing skin under her clothes, and had only kept off the sweater because her arms hurt too much to put it back into place.

Ella flipped through the file, checked some boxes.

Sam was glad she had been dismissed, and started to move away.

"Oh. You're not going anywhere without this, of course." Ella said, calmly. She extended a paper at Sam. The crisp green paper was bright between them. "I take it you want your old room back?"

Sam knew what it was and refused to take it. She could see Ella's signature on the sheet, and Sam wanted no part of it.

"I am not staying here." She refused to touch that form. Girls who were given that form were pitied, because they couldn't hack it on the outside world and were forced to come back. They were either weak, or dumb. Sam was neither. She was tired. She was not going to stay here and be poked at, be forced back into group sessions, be forced into this system again. She was done.

"I'm afraid Sam that you made this decision, when you skipped your session yesterday, and again, today, when you declined to discuss your reasoning." Ella stated calmly, and Sam wanted to yell. This was her life that was in her hands, this was her life on the line, and no one expected her to yell. They expected her to be a good girl and take it. She didn't. "At least this way, you can be assured that you won't miss your sessions."

Sam's teeth were clenched so tightly that they scraped against each other as she said, "I am not staying here."

"If you're not going to engage in the therapeutic process, you most certainly are. Now." Ella said, "Are you going to revisit your discussion, or shall I have you escorted upstairs?"

Sam weighed her options, and thought of Jake. Staying here would be an easy way to avoid thinking about her father's betrayal, but she knew that it would not be fair to Jake, to lock herself away, and not to take him with her. If she left, she had to know that he would be okay. The idea of staying here was abhorrent. It was liked being locked in a closet when all she wanted to do was run away.

Sam took the paper, tore it up, and crumpled the pieces into a ball, throwing them into the trashcan. The ball did not hit the basket and landed lamely on the floor near it. "What do I have to tell you so I can get out of here?"

Ella seemed to consider what to say. Sam sat down. She closed the file. "How're the headaches?"

Pounding. She wanted to vomit. Sam wanted out of here. This tiny room was going to suffocate her." Fine." The lie slid off of her lips easily, and Sam loathed herself because she had been raised to hate the one thing she was now good at.

She'd fed Jake that same line this morning and he hadn't believed her. She hadn't slept last night, and she was in pain, and Edye was driving her up a wall, and Jake cared. He cared. And she hated herself because pushing him away wasn't working, and Sam was reconsidering it. The more she snapped in the dark of the night, the more he took it, the more she felt badly, and the closer she had woken up to him the next time she had woken up. The fact was, she wanted to get lost in him, in the warmth of his woodsy scent, but she knew she couldn't allow herself to do that. It wasn't fair to him.

Ella didn't seem phased by her terse response, and focused on Sam like they were chatting. Sam half expected a coffee cup to appear, clasped between Ella's open fingers. "Your grandmother?"

Sam wondered how she would tell Ella that Gram was clinically depressed and medicated to the hilt, self medicating with sleep and food. Again, Sam shoved away her actual response and replied,"Fine."

"Well, that's good." Ella replied, probably thinking that giving more words would get more words. "How's your father?"

Sam did not want to discuss him. She knew nothing about the man that had raised her, that much was abundantly clear, "How should I know?" Sam looked out the window, and wondered what it would feel like to fall off of the edge of the balcony. How blissful it must be, to be falling, falling, falling.

"Hm." Ella moved along, "How are your horses?" Ella's gaze didn't waver from her face. Sam schooled her features carefully.

Sam was silent. Ella knew nothing if she thought Sam was going to unlock that box. She hadn't been able to tell Jake about how she was feeling about the horses. Who did Ella think she was that Sam would tell her? She had one thread of control left, and she wasn't about to let it snap.

Ella frowned. Sam didn't even care if she green-sheeted her at this point. Sam was already planning her escape route. She'd simply tear up the sheet and walk out. What could Ella do to stop her?

"May I ask you a personal question?" Ella's phrasing was certainly delicate, Sam would give her that.

"Isn't that what you do?" Sam shot back, anger at the rhetorical question peppering her mouth. Ella went on and on about not wasting her time, and who was wasting whose time, now?

"What is it that you think silence will get you, Samantha?"

"Hm?" Sam did her best impression of Jake, thinking of him at his most imperious.

She knew he was wandering around the hospital, maybe drinking more stale coffee, maybe reading a germ infested magazine, the one with the corner cut off and the pages rumpled. She wished she was with him. No matter how annoyed he was, she felt the most like wanting to be herself with him. It hurt like hell, but at least she felt. The numbness she was succumbing to was going to kill her.

He'd finished  _1984_ last night, and moved on to another novel. Sam thought it was the one about Rooster Cogburn and Mattie Ross. Sam wished she was like Mattie Ross. In the process of becoming herself, Mattie had lost an arm, but it seemed that Sam would never get there, no matter how much she gave. She had nothing left to give, and what she had wasn't even enough to let her make it through the day. Pain sliced through her. She wanted to take something and sleep. She had barely gotten out of bed two hours ago, and all she wanted to do was get back in.

"You know, Sam, I did a fellowship in psychiatry at Harvard. I studied the effects of couples, er, dyads on trauma and resiliency." Ella said, "I believe it's time to consider the whole equation here."

"What?" Sam blurted. This, looking down at her slim frame, was it.

This was her whole equation. What did the woman want? Platitudes about making progress and being mindful of her choices? A loving circle of perfect people? Sam didn't have that. What she had was a broken family, one that was in shreds. It was ragged and tattered, and it was no one's fault but hers. She had done this to her family. The blame was solely hers.

"As a practitioner, I value the ABC-X Model, which asks a person to evaluate potential resources in their lives in responses to stressors." Ella said, "Loved ones are often a resource. Further, involving the family in the therapeutic process is beneficial."

She was welcome to try. Dad would never drive down here just to talk to Ella. He thought talk therapy was useless. "This just in, Ella, Dad isn't here." Maybe Ella would see, then, see that the image she had of Sam's Sam's family was nothing more than some faded picture. Sam knew the images of devotion that her story called up, images of a father loving his daughter enough to put her first. It was all lies. Dad was out for number one.

"What makes you think I was talking about your father?" Ella mused. "How's Jake?" Anger sped through Sam.

"He has nothing to do with this, nothing to do with anything, do you understand? Leave. Jake. Alone." Sam seethed. "You have no right to even bring him up! Stay away from Jake."

Ella looked interested in her vehemence. "What is it you think that I'm going to do to him?" Ella's voice was soft. She had moved forward on her seat, a bit, and was looking at Sam intently.

Ella would never understand. Sam knew that Jake knew more about her than Ella would. He would see beyond her silence, see the thoughts in her eyes, and it would break him. She wasn't going to take him down with her. He was the one bit of good left in her world, and Ella wouldn't take him from her.

No. He had to leave.

The realization crashed over her. He had to go, leave. 

She was having one of those breakthroughs that Ella mentioned from time to time. It was terrible. Jake had to leave. He had to go. She was seconds away from falling to pieces, and she wasn't going to let the one person she couldn't bear to see go up in flames get lost in the carnage that was her destruction. He had to go home to Three Ponies. He would understand, one day, even if she would not be the one to make him see it. He would understand that she could not pull him down, and maybe, one day, he would be thankful that she'd cared enough to get him out of the way.

Ella pressed her, "Sam? What's going to happen to Jake?"

Sam didn't know where the words came from, "He's not stupid! He's not stupid. He'll see that I've given up, that I can't do this anymore. I'm trying to get him to go home, and if you bring him here, and tell him that I need him, he'll never go, because he's Jake Ely. I need him to go."

Ella let the words float around, listened to Sam's ragged breathing and replied, "Can you tell me why he needs to go, Sam? Just last week you said-"

She did not need to hear those words again. "I know what I said! I was wrong." Sam lied even to herself, "I can't do what I need to do with him here." That much was true.

_I watched the world float_

_To the dark side of the moon_

_After all I knew it had to be_

_Something to do with you_

_I really don't mind what happens now and then_

_As long as you'll be my friend at the end_

_Kryptonite_ , 3 Doors Down

"Mr. Ely?" The soft click of kitten heels met his ears just as the voice did. Jake looked up from the newspaper. It was boring, and he didn't care, because it passed the time. He just couldn't read his book because Mattie Ross reminded him too much of Sam. 

"I'm Ella." He stood, "Would you come with me, please?"

Jake set his paper on the table, paying it forward. "Why?" He was blunt. According to Sam, Ella didn't care for prevarication. The women was perhaps in her 50s, with dangly earrings that would be ripped off by small children, if she had any. Jake watched them glint in the sunlight streaming in from the window behind him as they walked away.

"We'll discuss it in my office." She led the way, back through a locked door, and across a ward that Jake had crossed a thousand times. He knew that if he looked up, there would be sheep on the ceiling, and he couldn't help but feel like a lamb led to the slaughter.

They were there inside the office when she spoke again. Sam was down in the speech therapist's office, and he had no idea what the woman was going to say. She shut the door, and Jake fought the urge to tell her to keep it open. It was a reflex. It wasn't personal. 

She was a medical professional, a doctor, but Jake knew better than to go into a room with someone he wasn't related to. It was just something people didn't do. Ella's was a kind woman, he knew, and he had no intention of hurting her, but it was still odd to realize that he was completely alone with someone who knew more about him than he ever cared to know about her. The silence was heavy.

She looked at him, "Mr. Ely-"

"Jake." Jake replied, sitting down in the obvious chair.

Ella smiled. 

"What can I help you with, Ma'am?" Jake wondered if perhaps Sam had said something in session, but if that were the case, she would be here, and they would be talking together. She was having a rough couple of days, they both were, but she was taking this harder than Jake ever thought possible. Sam was downright lethargic and he lived for the moments that the things he did to irk her paid off, because they told him that she was still there with him.

"I was simply wondering if you were getting treatment for the trauma you've suffered. Your experiences have been on my mind for some time." Ella said, and Jake wondered if crossing this line was a violation of her ethical codes.

She must have read the look on his face. "You're not in therapy?"

"No." Jake replied. He wasn't the one who had gone through this. Sam had. He wondered if she spent her sessions talking about him, and his heart squeezed inside of his chest. Sam couldn't see how giving she was. "I'm not."

"Would you care to be?" Ella replied, "My colleague, Dr. Ayers has some openings. I know we shouldn't even be having this conversation, but Jacob...Will you at least consider some individual sessions in conjunction with some group sessions?"

Her blue eyes were earnest.

Jake frowned, "Group? For what?" Sam formerly went to group therapy four times a week. She'd hated it, and Jake knew that he didn't even want to attempt even tolerating going around in a circle and finding something good to say about himself.

"You and Sam really ought to consider working through some things as a family."

Jake had never heard anyone apply that word to the relationship, but he found that he liked it. They were family. Friends didn't cut it, hadn't cut it since she was two and he'd bitten the heads off of the fishy crackers for her, and they weren't anything else.

Yeah, Jake decided, a feeling of comfort washing over him, they were family. They weren't alone. "She said she was more comfortable with me bringing up the idea, but of course, you're free to refuse and..."

"Yeah. That's fine." Jake replied. He'd do this if Sam thought it was a good idea. She had a lot of ideas, but in the end, one of her ideas about people hadn't steered him wrong yet, "Why didn't Sam just ask me?"

He fought the urge to fiddle with the keys in his pocket.

"That's a wonderful question for your first session." Ella replied, making some clicks on her computer, "We'll be ready for you at ten tomorrow." With that, Jake nodded and slipped out the door.

_She is frozen in time behind the enemy lines_

_in the night time she stares down the highway_

_which way's the right way?_

_walking through this world on a tightrope of memory_

_the door swings both ways in and out in and outside_

_so buckle up_

_It's gonna be a bumpy ride no_

_It's gonna be a bumpy ride no_

_So Hi, So Lo,_  Matisyahu

Later that afternoon, Jake kept turning the word that Ella had used in her conversation with him over and over in his mind. Sam was sitting on the couch with her nebulizer, the soft whoosh of the machine providing sound as he thought about their relationship. Family was a good word.

He had always applied it to their siblings, to the parents They had always been a team, always been a unit. It was nice to know that Ella saw that and had given him a word to express what he felt about Sam in a word that other people would understand.

She would always be his best friend, the person he didn't have to hide from, even during the hard times like this. It felt like everything was crashing and burning, but still, here they were, broken but together, wrapped up in each other.

Sam broke into his thoughts, and Jake let his hand fall into her hair gently. "You don't have to come." She pulled away the mouthpiece and let the smoke that was blowing out of the spout dissipate into the air, away from their eyes so that it didn't irritate them.

She was still talking about their upcoming session. They'd talked it over. He thought it was over, but evidently not.

"It'll be okay." Jake said, running a hand over the angles of her shoulders.

Sam leaned back into him and continued with the breathing treatment. After she thought for a second, she moved to turn and speak again.

Jake held her in place gently, and continued, "It's not like we have secrets." Jake liked that, liked knowing that there were no games in their relationship. He could put everything into them knowing that what he saw was all that he was getting, and he tried to give Sam the same trust in him.

These last couple of days had been hard, and coming back to San Francisco and Edye hadn't exactly been great, but he knew how she was feeling, knew her. He what the fine tremor that ran through her meant. Jake paused, "Do we?"

Jake saw Sam pause. No one else would have heard the catch in her voice, but he heard it. He heard the lie before it even came out of her mouth, after a nanosecond, in which he'd hoped she was changing her mind enough to tell him the truth, or at least not lie, "No."

Jake tried to play this cool, "Liar."

Sam nodded, inhaling on the machine, "Mhhm."

When she determined that the medicine was gone, she flipped off the machine, unsnapped the tubing, winding it with shaking fingers. She put aside the receptacle and the mouthpiece and moved to get up. "That can wait." Jake didn't want her to leave, not while his heart was racing. "You've never lied to me before."

Sam frowned, and Jake hooked a foot over her body. He couldn't see her face, but he could feel her all around him. "Not true." Sam coughed, and Jake reached for the water beside the couch on the floor. Sam sipped it through the straw, and Jake rubbed her back. After a second, she continued, "I told you I liked that phase you went through in 1998."

"Sam..." Jake urged. "Come on." Jake was in uncharted waters. A silly obsession with some rodeo clown was not the same thing as knowing that there was something looming between them, something dark and unknown. He could not protect her if he didn't know what they were up against.

She sighed softly, lacing her fingers through his. "If you were dying, what would you do?"

This wasn't an answer to his question. Jake was befuddled and tried to understand where she was coming from. Then again, she loved to play with hypotheticals. "Like, in ten seconds, or do I have time?" Jake asked, glad that she was playing with her mind again, "Is everyone going or just me?"

"Just you." Sam replied, "And time...is a variable." Jake thought maybe he heard a catch in her voice. He knew what he would say if it was just him going, but he didn't know what he would do. He'd probably tell Sam he was sorry he hadn't listened to her about her Polly Pocket stable. That was the one time he'd made her cry, gotten joy out of being right, lorded his hight over her, and taken away the horses because she'd been annoying that day. He'd enjoyed making her cry, once, and it was a regret he carried with him, though he would never otherwise say as much.

Jake frowned. "I don't know, Sam."

He hoped the answer would be enough. A few weeks ago, he'd known exactly what he would do. A few weeks ago, he would have welcomed the warmth that floating away would bring, welcomed the ability to be beyond his pain. He'd often thought about what it would be like to wake up dead. He enjoyed the thought until he realized that his mother would be the one to find him, and when he thought about that, he couldn't bring himself to think about it specifically, only in the abstract.

Jake knew, now, though, that if he were going to die with her, that they would probably throw caution to the wind, and end up getting very, very, naked, very, very quickly. Jake knew that they both felt the embers he'd seen in Sam's eyes in the studio. It wasn't the right time to fan those flames, but he thought that the day might come once they were healthier. 

However, if Sam weren't going with him, there would be about 75 or 80 things he couldn't say or do, because he wouldn't want to leave her to face the consequences. He thought, for a second, "I'd probably do something crazy. Something I'd never do, in life, but have always wanted."

Jake felt Sam breathe, and subconsciously tightened his grip on her body, "You?"

Sam was silent. After another thirty seconds, Jake prompted her again, "Sam?"

"I don't want to die." Sam said, tonelessly, and Jake thought that was what she would say, until she kept speaking, a note of hysteria in her voice, "I really don't. I don't."

She started to move, and the machine that had been balancing on her lap was knocked to the floor as she turned to face him, almost kneeing him in her haste, "I don't want to die. I don't want to go. I...want to stay with you..."

She started to speak faster going on about the same things, but all Jake could see was the raw grit and the unshed tears in her eyes. Her words gave way to tears, "And I'm sorry, and I..."

"Nobody wants to die, Sam." Jake tried to comfort her by hugging her, feeling the worn cotton of an old grey t-shirt press against his t-shirt. Despite her thinness, the worn angles of her body were comforting and soft, "You have nothing to be sorry about, you know that."

"I couldn't do it, I can't do it, but I can't do this, either." She wasn't making sense, but it was hardly a surprise. Jake decided to focus on helping her to calm down, rather than on a rational discussion.

There was going to be time to analyze her words later. "I'm sorry. I wanted to, I wanted..."

She shivered, and tilted her head, her green eyes leaving his face as she looked down at the hands she hadn't separated, "But you have to believe me, no matter what I say later. No matter what happens, you have to promise not to let me go."

Jake didn't know what to say.

Then, he thought about everything that had led up to this moment, this horrible, aching, bleeding moment. "Sam. I made you that promise years ago." He had made it the second he saw her, and had affirmed it in countless new and changing ways over the years. She had made that promise to him, too. When the time came, he'd remind her of it.

She knew it though, because she had dragged him back from the edge, "But if you need the words, you have them."

Jake paused, the words causing his throat to clog, "Sam." She leaned into their embrace, nestled her face in the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply, her lips scraping the side of his throat. The simple action sent a bolt of something unfathomable down Jake's spine, and he forgot what he was going to say.

The point had been made, so he didn't worry. They were a unit, a team, a family, and sometimes, they didn't need words.

_When you're down and troubled and you need a helping hand_

_and nothing, whoa, nothing is going right._

_Close your eyes and think of me and soon I will be there_

_to brighten up even your darkest nights._

_You just call out my name, and you know where ever I am_

_I'll come running to see you again._

_You've Got a Friend_ , James Taylor

Jake wasn't as at ease as he thought he would be. Regina had shot him a look of sympathy as she had parked herself into the best chair in the waiting room and pulled out her knitting from the carpet bag.

Jake drummed his fingers along the couch's arm. The therapy room was decorated like a home study, an office desk and cabinet situated out of the way of living room furniture, the industrial sort. Jake couldn't fail to notice the panic button and the hazardous waste box, no matter how they tried to make it unobtrusive.

He stopped when Sam snapped, "Headache." She was leaning back against the couch, her arms folded over her face, her blue shirt crinkling as the worn cotton bunched from her position.

"Sorry." Jake whispered. Her head had been hurting for hours.

Wyatt had called at ten last night, shaking her out of a sound sleep that had survived even Edye's stomping home to her cave for the day.

Jake had yanked the phone on the bedside table, and said, "Hello?"

Sue had been out, somewhere, and so he and Sam were there alone in the dark, getting some much needed sleep.

He remembered that Wyatt had said, "Jake, did I wake you up?"

Jake nearly groaned at the stupidity of the question, "I'd like to talk to Sam."

Jake had looked over at her sleeping form and debated waking her up. She looked so cozy, snoring lightly, as she flopped out on their bed, one of her knees drawn up and the opposite arm thrown above her head, hogging the pillows. Jake bet she was drooling. 

He looked at the phone, mashed the mute button, and rolled over, glad that Wyatt couldn't hear the shift of the bed as he did so, "Sam. Wake up. Wyatt's on the line."

She'd muttered something, and nearly hit him in the face as she'd cuddled into his side.

Jake pushed aside an errant strand of hair, and blew into her ear, earning him another ineffectual swat. He was getting smarter, though, and held her hand to his shoulder gently. 

Jake smiled. "Sam. Wyatt's on the line."

 

Jake figured that she was sleeping.She snored softly, and so Jake fumbled with the phone to try and unmute it, only to have the shock of his life when the glowing phone hadn't been muted.

He'd put the darn thing on speakerphone, and Wyatt had heard every soft word that had passed between them. Jake figured it was water under the bridge now. "Wyatt. Can you hear me?"

"Every. Word." The man snapped.

Jake rolled his eyes.

The man was clearly sex crazed, what with his nearly teenaged girlfriend. If all they had between them was sex, good for them, or not, whatever, but he hated that Wyatt thought he had any right to judge Sam's choices, without knowing the facts. He was as good as calling his daughter a liar, and Jake hated that he was the only person that could get away with treating her like that. Anyone else, Jake figured, he could kill, and Quinn could help him dig the grave. 

Jake looked at Sam. What would her father think, if he knew that Sam was wearing an old Hank Williams t-shirt and little else, simply because she said her skin was crawling and she didn't feel like finding anything else. So she'd grabbed his shirt from the clean pile, and that had been the end of that. 

Wyatt broke into the soft darkness with a tense question,"Where's Sue?"

"Jake." Sam lifted her head from the pillow, and practically bit his head off, "Would you please shut up." She was serious, even half-asleep with her hair in her face.Her tone made it clear that she was not asking him to do so, "I am trying to sleep. You are the most annoying person I have ever met. The point of being here is to sleep. If you are not going to sleep, go read your book or something, but just..."

She cracked an eye, at the light from the phone, "Why're you callin' somebody? I don't want pizza."

Jake had been trying not to laugh. He lost it when she started going on about pizza. She glared, and let her head fall back on the pillow. Her glare only made him laugh all the harder. 

She was clearly high, zonked out on painkillers, and whatever else they had her on, and she was always like this when half asleep. It was something Jake often appreciated. Even high, Sam was still there, still snarky. 

Wyatt didn't know that, though, because he didn't know a darn thing about his daughter, her medical condition, or her life. "Samantha Anne!" He father nearly bellowed, over the phone.

He heard Wyatt's truck in the background and knew that he was probably coming home from another night with Brynna. It made his teeth clench.

Jake had never expected what would happen next.

Sam took the phone, frowned at it, pushed the end button, and tossed the phone across the room, where it landed with a thunk. "I don't like him." She also hadn't much liked the fact that the phone had rang off the hook until she'd almost fallen out of bed to reach it, pick it up, and hang it up again.

Repeatedly. That girl had ovaries, that was for sure. 

She made it clear she wasn't going to be speaking to her father, and Jake couldn't change that, nor did he blame her. Still, he'd enjoyed having to tell her that she hadn't dreamed any of it in the morning, just to see the look on her face as she'd brushed her teeth. 

_My eishes chayil_   
_Makes me smile_   
_Whenever the clouds are in the sky_   
_And I want you to know_   
_That if you ever need me_   
_I'll be right out your window_

_Eishes Chayil_ , The Groggers

Ella came into the room, and shut the door behind her.

Jake stopped looking at Sam when she straightened, and sent him a look that clearly chided him for being on the verge of laughter. She knew what he was thinking about. 

Ella settled into the chair across from them. "Well. I hope you've had a restful evening."

Jake took a cue from Sam, who was silent. He felt like they ought to say something. Wasn't that why they were here? He followed Sam's lead, though, and remanied silent. 

"Well, don't talk over each other. I see we'll have to work on that." Ella paused, "See, that's a bit of humor."

She was a bright, sunny, woman who seemed at home in this room. "Well, I'll skip the rest of my warm up and get to brass tacks, shall I?"

Jake was taking in the bright room, the wall of windows, and the blonde wood furniture with very 50s stylings.

Ella looked directly at him, "How much did Sam have to drink last night, Jake?" She hadn't been drinking, though she had not sat up, or uncovered her eyes. Didn't this woman know that Sam hated drinking? Jake saw that Ella actually knew very little about Sam and was therefore determined to keep these interactions superficial.

Jake looked at Sam, who was sitting up as she replied for for them, "Don't mess with him. These sessions are optional, and he doesn't have to be here." Sam inhaled, but didn't tense. Jake saw that Sam was fairly relaxed. "I didn't sleep well last night."

Ella looked at Sam, unfazed by the sharpness in her tone, "Why?" Jake wondered what Sam planned to say. She could easily chalk it up to the headache without telling Ella why her head was pounding. Jake was prepared to back her up with a lie if he had to, because Sam couldn't lie for anything.

Jake was knocked through a loop when Sam replied with more honesty than he expected, "My idiot father thinks we're fornicating again."

"Sex, you mean?" Ella clarified. Jake had to keep focused on breathing. Ella was certainly very blunt in a way that Jake hadn't expected. He had expected discussions of psychological theory, or maybe some ink blots, not a frank discussion of their non existent sexual habits and preferences.

"Fornication is a type of sex, Ella." Sam said, finally opening her eyes and straightening up. She yanked on the couch, and shifted, flicking a glance at him. Jake avoided making eye contact. Sam knew what that meant, of that Jake was sure. "You're making Jake uncomfortable."

Ella posed the next question conversationally, but Jake knew from what Sam had told him to be ready for that she was really mining for data, "Do you always speak for him?"

"Only when people are enforcing heterosexist standards on our relationship." Sam retorted.

Sam looked at Jake. _Get ready._

 _Damn, Sam. Why that book?_ He knew what was coming, damn it. Another Meg Cabot was going to be the end of him. What did Sam see in Suze and Jesse, anyhow? They were oil and water. And anyhow, the fool was offended at being called a cowboy. 

"I won." He couldn't bring himself to feel badly that he had lost their bet, not when he got to see her so sharp and alive after a really rough few days.

"Won, what?" Ella asked, with a soft smile.

Sam looked at him.  _Told you._

Jake decided he'd take this one.  _I am not reading that book._

"We had a bet. Sam's picking the next book because she knew you would bring up sex the second she mentioned her father." Jake said, trying to be careful with his words, not knowing what this woman might read into them. It seemed clear that she was pushing them, though Sam had been clear that she knew what they were to each other.

 _Yes, you are._ Sam's gaze was telling. 

Jake was left to wonder what her reasons for leading them into this discussion were.

"You decided what you would be willing to discuss with me today?" Ella asked. Jake figured that the whole thing had come up pretty naturally. Sam was telling him what to expect, and they next thing he knew, he was asking her what sorts of things Ella might want to talk about. That had led into a bet session. It was all very simple. 

Jake shot Sam a look, and they nodded together. When hadn't they had a plan? "Seemed wisest to have plan." They always had a plan when dealing with other people. They were very introverted people, and navigated the world best as a team. 

Jake was surprised again by Ella's next question.  "I notice a lot of nonverbal communication going on." Ella said. "I'm curious. Can we talk about that?"

Sam groaned, "Ella we're psychic."

She looked at Jake and smiled before rolling her eyes for what he knew was coming,"He can see into my soul, and I feel his heartbeat next to mine. I swear I can feel him. We almost meld, sometimes, and are so empathic that I wonder if my emotions are mine, or a reaction to what I know he's feeling."

Ella wasn't really phased by Sam's assertions, so Jake relaxed a little bit when she asked, "This doesn't freak you out?"

"She's kidding." Jake said, even though he knew she wasn't, for the most part. The part about special abilities was a total joke, they were no more psychic than he was medium, and he had no ability in that regard. He saw the truth in what she was was saying, though, and wondered what Ella meant about her words scaring him. There was only thing that Sam could say that would really scare him. Anything else they could work with, work through.

She hadn't picked the words he would have, but her admission was forthright and on point. 

"Not every man is afraid of commitment, Ella." Sam replied, unfolding one of her knees to stick straight her leg out in front of her. Jake realized that her left hip was bothering her, and passed her the throw pillow he'd moved.

Sam took it, and jammed into place. She always said it was her back, but really, the pain from the top of her hips radiated into the small of her back. "And anyway, you're not looking at our relationship correctly."

"What am I missing?" Ella looked vaguely pleased that she was being redirected by the two of them.

Jake wondered what she was taking away from that, but decided he needed to focus. Sam flicked him a glance when Ella wasn't looking, and Jake knew that Sam had understood where Ella was going. She had wanted to be corrected.

"Everything." Jake replied, simply, "Everyone tries to make us fit some mold. We don't. We never will."

"And how does that make you feel?" Ella replied.

He might be the more emotive one of them, or so Sam had said once at some point, but he wasn't about to tell Ella that people assuming things about their relationship ticked him off because it showed how narrow-minded people could be and they assumed that the relationship between him and Sam was free game for them tot think about. What they had was theirs, and he felt some sting of regret for opening them up to this. They didn't have to defend anything about who they were to anybody, not this woman, and not anyone else.

Sam ended the discussion of the definition, which was good enough for Jake. They weren't a pair of kids that needed to have a DTR before they had a NCMO or something. He wanted Ella to see that, if she saw nothing else. Sam's soft words hit home, "I wish people would stop trying to devalue our relationship, and would see what we have for what it is."

"That's a good point, Sam. Can we work on defining that in session? It seems you know what you don't have, and that's great, but let's examine what you do have." She waited for their nods, and dove in, "Tell me about your families." 

"Family." They said together. No one ever got that they had one family. Jake prepared him, for the millionth time, to explain himself. At least this wasn't some nosy busybody bothering his mother in the grocery store. She got comments all his life about her cart full of kids, and now that they were grown, she still got comments over the amount of food she bought. 

Sam took this one for the team. "We have one family. Except for Aunt Francine." 

Jake was surprised by her levity, and admitted, "She's Sam's." 

"Quinn's." Sam shot back. God, this argument was almost as old as she was. Aunt Fran tried, but she had never understood why Sam didn't like barbies, or why they had their own horses in kindergarten. Aunt Fran was a bit of a worrier. Not to mention batshit insane, with her religious ramblings, crunchy hair, and her love of crunchy peanut butter. 

If Quinn were here, he would have passed it up the line. Jake realized that he missed his brothers. A soft look shared with Sam said that she did, too, and just like that, the levity was gone, and they were back on earth. 

After a long space of silence, Ella ventured, with a smile, "Quinn's older than you, Sam, right?" 

"He's 13 months older than Jake." Sam said. It was actually something like 12.5, but whatever. This therapy thing wasn't so very hard. He wondered when Ella was going to stop shooting the breeze. 

"Your brother?" She asked, looking at Jake. 

Jake just nodded, "There's Kit, Adam, Nate, Seth, Brian, Quinn, me, and Sam." 

"Oh." Ella said, slowly, looking between them, pushing her glasses up her nose. 

"For the record, Ella." Sam interjected, "I don't expect you to get it. It'll take a few decades to figure out how our family used to work." 

 _Used to work._ Jake hadn't thought of it that way, but it was true. Their family was broken, and Wyatt had smashed it to hell with his lack of communication. Ella broke in, "I'll try, if you'll fill me in." 

The room was heavy. Ella must know that she had unwittingly touched a nerve. Sam shifted on the sofa, and Jake resisted the urge to reach for her hand. 

The session moved on, after that. Ella asked, "Jake. Will you share your experiences surrounding Sam's injury?"

"What do you want to know?" Jake thought for a second and started rattling the medical facts as he had a thousand times before.

He sought Sam's eyes, and held fast to her support as he spoke. He tried his best to keep this factual, but he knew that in every word, his bias rang true.

Ella cut him off with compassion, "I know that, Jake. I have access to every medical facts. I don't care about facts, so much, right now. Perceptions are reality, and I want to understand your perceptions surrounding anything you might wish to share."

Jake looked at Sam, and found everything he needed in her eyes.

Her expression was, oddly enough, comfortable. She liked Ella, thought that they were safe in this space no matter what.

She trusted Ella, and she trusted him. "I'm proud of her. She's worked hard." Jake tried to make Ella see, but even if she didn't see, nothing would change how he felt, or what he knew.

"We're not talking about Sam." Ella said, softly, "I'd like to hear about you." Jake didn't understand what she wanted.

He'd told her more than he'd told someone he was related to, and still, she pressed for more. It was frustrating and confusing. 

Ella filled him in, "In the initial days after the accident, what stands out to you the most?"

_Come as you are, as you were_   
_As I want you to be_   
_As a friend, as a friend_   
_As an old enemy_

_Take your time, hurry up_   
_The choice is yours, don't be late_   
_Take a rest as a friend_   
_As an old_

_Memoria, memoria_   
_Memoria, memoria_

_Come as You Are,_  Nirvana

Jake was silent.

He felt Sam shifting, moving down from the other end of the couch. Unconsciously, Jake absorbed some of her weight as she shifted so that she wouldn't get caught on the couch cushions.

Sam settled in, and he felt a light touch on his arm. He looked over at her, pulling his gaze from the sliver of couch left between them. He understood what the slide of her index finger meant as it moved along his pulse point.

Whatever he said would be okay.

Jake tried his best to be honest. "The blood transfusions. Sam doesn't remember them, but I do. I saw her blood..." Jake's eyes slammed shut, "It was on me, because..."

"The transfusions..." Sam whispered, "We don't have to talk about anything but them."

Jake swallowed, nodded, and tried to banish the pictures in his brain. He thought of being in the hall outside her room as the bags flowed into her body, the dark red standing out against the pale milkiness of her blueish skin and the paper white sheets.

"They couldn't find a donor." Jake thought that had been the issue, though so much of that time was a haze, with snippets only coming back in the darkness, or when something set them off. It was immaterial why she'd needed blood. It had to be immaterial for now. The why wasn't a part of this fact.

Ella nodded, the unspoken fact of Sam's rare blood type was known to all of them.

Jake opened his eyes again, "I was going out of my mind. She lost so much blood. I remember looking down, still seeing it in the beds of my nails, on the hem of my jeans."

Jake cleared his throat, trying to focus on the present Sam, the one who was sitting across from him, vibrant, and alive. "They wouldn't listen to me when I said that I was a match, to test me, to test Quinn, Nate. They said I was the last person that..."

"What did you do?" Ella pressed gently, "Did one of your brothers donate, then?"

Slowly, Jake shook his head. "I...signed the informed consent forms and did a directed donation."

Sam went rigid beside him.

She shifted quickly to look at him, and Jake met her gaze baldly.  _I did the right thing._

"Did you read the form, Jake?" Sam looked at him, hurt bright in her eyes, "Did you really read it?"

"Yes." He affirmed softly, almost forgetting that Ella was in the room with them. He had done it once, and would do it again. "I read it."

"Thanks for that." Sam spat, "I cannot believe that you would do that. I cannot believe that you would take that risk."  _Hurt. Hurt. Wrong._

Sam turned to Ella, who knew full well what the implications of him giving Sam his blood could mean, "Well, Ella, you wanted a definition of our relationship. There you have it."

The woman in question was observing, sympathy tinging her expression. Jake had seen the family photo on her desk yesterday, knew that she and her wife had a family. Surely, then, Ella would see that he'd done what he'd felt he had to do, done what needed to be done, and hadn't taken any of their options away, not really, not in any way that mattered.

"It's a minimal risk." Jake replied, trying to avoid the twinge of something indescribable that hit him when she made that crack about defining their relationship, "What did you want, Sam, me to pick somebody that doesn't exist over an actual need you had?" He got to the point, something harsh in his voice. Was she really serious? "You wanted me to pick somebody else over you?"

"There wasn't an an once of O negative blood to be found anywhere in the state of Nevada?" Sam's eyes never left his.

The pain, the diminished hope in her eyes was unmistakable, "It had to come for your body?" Sam was angry, clearly, but she was also hurt.

Jake thought he knew what she was talking about.

"I had to help you." Jake asserted. She didn't understand the desperation he felt to help her, the desperation of knowing that he'd had to do something to make amends, somehow.

That night in the hospital, the only moment he could really breathe were when the needle pierced his skin. The needle piercing his skin had been redemption, a way to make amends, to know that he had given her all that he had. He wanted to know that she would live, and if God took her, that He was taking part of Jake along with her. He had needed to know that they would be with each other, always, somehow. It had been a driving instinct, one that had overrode any other voice in his mind. 

Nothing else mattered to him, in that moment, not the warnings they gave him, not the risks they tried to impress upon him. Words like "potential genetic risks" and "future maternal and fetal complications" hadn't meant anything. They finally shut up when he said for the 500th time that he was her friend, and to stop reducing her life to some biological function.

Sam wasn't some broodmare, and if the day came that she wanted children, and she wanted him to be part of those choices, he would be. She had more worth than her ability to carry a fetus to term. He had signed the forms, let the ink dry. Wyatt probably had had to give the okay on Sam's end, though he really did not want to think about that conversation the doctor or whomever had had with Wyatt. Jake had not expected this reaction from Sam.

"No." Sam said,"You had to break a promise!"

He had promised to take care of her, to put her needs before his own. What promise had he broken?

Oh. He remembered the night last winter. Snow had been falling all around them, crunching under their boots, and Sam had been bemoaning the fact that Jen was spending all of her time with Slocum, Jr. What that girl saw in him was beyond Jake. 

He'd made some crack about avoiding al of that drama and just skipping all of that when the time came to create a family.

Sam had quipped that if she wasn't a mother by the time she was 30, she'd give him a call, and they could be friends with the benefit of a baby between them.

"That was a joke." Jake ventured, having never been really sure, one way or the other, not when she'd shoved snow down his pants not ten seconds later after proposing to have his baby sometime down the line. He rather thought that the snow down his pants negated her words. Evidently not. 

"To you." Sam said, shaking her head. It hadn't been a joke? What...? No, Wait. Yeah. Alright. Okay.

 "It was a joke to you. To me, it was a valid option. It isn't anymore." She tried to brush him off. 

Jake wasn't going to brushed off like that. Not with that look on her face, and the hesitant way she shifted. 

Ella was observing silently.

Sam said, acidly, "I'm sure Rachel will just be over the moon."

Why did she persist in insisting that Jake had had a crush on that girl? How could he possibly, when all he ever heard about her was how much Sam hated her? He'd only hung out with Rachel for the briefest of seconds when Sam was around to tick her off. The spluttering and the sullen silences he'd had to coax Sam out of had been worth having to deal with Rachel. 

When Sam said Rachel's name, Jake knew the jig was up. She wasn't upset about the potential risks, she was upset about something now.

Her lips wobbled and he realized that she was really worried about something that was going on with her body now, not something that belonged to the future.  _Jerk._

 _Hm._ He got that she didn't want Ella to know what she was really upset about. He studied her briefly, and ran his fingers through his hair.

Okay, so maybe it was a mixture of both. There was something more they needed to discuss privately, but there was no harm in dealing with this other...part of doing what had to be done. They had to finish this discussion for Ella's sake, now that he knew that it was out there. 

Jake looked at Ella hopelessly, but Sam filled in the silence. "Oh, it's done. You don't need to worry. I'll marry Quinn. There's less genetic risk."

Now she was just trying to stir the pot.

Jake tried to nudge her foot with the toe of his boot, but she didn't budge, proving his theory.

Her body language was tired, hurt, and Jake didn't know what she would want him to have done. This mystery element bloomed inside his brain as she moved away from his touch. It had something to do with touch. His touch. Their touches. What was going on?

"Can we bring this conversation into the open here?" Ella interjected, and for once, Jake was thankful for her presence.

That was, until she continued, "Have you two discussed marriage?"

"It doesn't matter." Sam rejected the question, leaving Jake no other option but to stay silent.

They had talked about everything, in the course of life, at one time or another. Marriage wasn't on their docket, now, but he wasn't going to write it off. He knew they had an odd relationship, and Jake just didn't know if there was a space for some other woman in his life. He didn't sleep except for when Sam was next to him, and he wasn't cool with opening their space to some random woman.

Maybe when she was fully recovered, Jake thought, he could try dating, though it had never held much appeal before. "Jake made a choice that should have been a joint one and that discussion is no longer open."

Jake snapped back, now actually annoyed. He had taken nothing from her in doing what had to be done. "Excuse me if you were too busy dying for me to consult your opinion, Sam."

"That's low." Sam shot back.

She had a blazing look in her eyes, one that a few months ago that would have sent her storming to the barn, and him off to lick his wounds at Three Ponies until they figured out how to suck it up and admit they missed each other. Last summer, they'd had a pretty typically impassioned disagreement yelling, slamming door, throwing of china, argument. Well, it had been all of that from Sam's end. He'd waited for her to finish screaming at him, growing more and more silent, until he'd said his piece, and they hadn't spoke for day or two, until Quinn and Brian had staged an intervention and they'd buried the hatchet, even though they both refused to concede their point.  

There wasn't that option anymore. They were in this together, and Jake would never make the mistake of walking away from Sam again. She could be angry, but at least she was alive to do it.

Sam's voice softened when she studied him carefully, "When were you going to tell me, Jake?" Ella seemed interested in the answer, though she had not interrupted the flow of their words. Still, she was there, somehow supportive and attentive even through her silence.

"I don't know, Sam." He reached for her hand again, and liked that she didn't pull away. Since they'd started using the simple connection in their hands as a form of communication, he found he liked it, a lot. "I don't regret it, and I'd do it. I'm sorry you're upset." Jake paused, and realized that it wasn't the best to qualify an apology like that, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry you got caught." Sam bit her lip and Jake saw that she was doubting her own words even as she struggled not to believe the truth in his words.

"You know better than that." Jake frowned, "I had no idea it would matter to you." He was not sure what to take away from the fact that it had mattered.

He was glad to have this new word to describe their relationship. Families wanted to grow, were okay with change, with adding new people. He knew better than anybody that that's what families did. Friends, not so much. He was glad for the new word, because he knew that having this discussion with a friend, even your best friend, would be seen as odd.

Still, he wasn't phased, and neither should Ella be phased, because she had given him they very word that made this exchange normal, expected.

"Because people just go around signing away another person's right to govern their own bodies, and it's not supposed to upset them?" Sam posited with a soft sigh, "This is not a conversation I planned to have, like ever."

"And yet, here you are." Ella interjected, centering their attention, "What do you think that you can take away from this revelation?" Ella paused meaningfully. "Sam?"

"He was trying to help." Sam replied, "And I'm going to die alone, if I ever make it out of here."

"While I think we need to explore that thought pattern, San, I think your point is apparent." Ella opened the floor to Jake, "Jake?"

Sam was absolutely high. She had to be. What was this about dying alone, and why wasn't Ella exploring that now? Wasn't it her job to probe statements like that?

"I need help here, Sam. I'm sorry I hurt you. I don't think I was wrong, and I think you're borrowing trouble. But I know that whatever happens, we can face it together, and if the transfusion helped that to happen, I'll never be sorry for it."

"I guess there's no changing it, is there?" Sam asked, studying him intently.

Ella quickly moved the session. Jake realized that she was quickly gauging where they were before she let them leave, he supposed to make sure they weren't going to kill each other the second they left the room. Jake let himself be led through what he knew was the cool down.

The silence reigned for a second. Sam squeezed his hand faintly, and Jake tried to smile. He felt like a wet noodle stuck to a wall that was slowly wicking away its moisture. 

Ella broke into their nonverbal conversation, "You have your individual appointments, and your joint homework is this: go do something fun, okay?"

Sam nodded and left the room.

Jake followed her out, asking, "There's homework?" He felt drained after that, and unsure, but he knew that they would be okay. He just hoped he never had to explain to somebody why they looked like Quasimodo in the disney movie, a very loved, very much wanted Quasimodo, but a Quasimodo all the same. 

He wouldn't much care, but it would give Sam all the ammunition to say she was right, and in this one case, he hoped she was very wrong about a person.

"Of course." Sam said, nodding. "You owe me lunch."

_We stood side by side each one fightin' for the other_

_We said until we died we'd always be blood brothers_

_Now the hardness of this world slowly grinds your dreams away_

_Makin' a fool's joke out of the promises we make_

_And what once seemed black and white turns to so many shades of gray_

_We lose ourselves in work to do and bills to pay_

_And it's a ride, ride, ride, and there ain't much cover_

_With no one runnin' by your side my blood brother_

_Blood Brother_ s, Bruce Springsteen

They were on their way to meet Regina in the cafeteria when Jake quirked an eyebrow at her, "You should get an Oscar for that performance."

"I'd rather earn a Tony. There are no takes on the stage." Sam replied, "And anyway, Ella knew there's more to it." Sam forwent explaining how she knew that Ella had seen through them and asked, "Why do you figure she let it drop so quickly?"

Sam knew she would have to explore that in her individual session tomorrow. It was just better to explore that without him, because, yeah, the idea of not having that option open to her had freaked her out, simply because she hadn't realized that she'd wanted that chance until she'd seen it slipping through her fingers. 

"Really?" Jake asked, holding open the door to the more congested main walkway in the hospital. His sneakers hit the sparkling tile easily. Sam's wheels spun with a faint whoosh and click. "You mean she didn't buy that you're broody?"

Sam rolled her eyes. She couldn't be broody if she tried. It seemed like all of the drugs had taken those feelings away, not to mention the more basic whisps of physical desire. She felt desire, felt want, sometimes, but not nearly enough, and not with enough intensity to think herself normal. Right now, she found herself more interested in sex for the relationship part of it, the closeness of it, though she would never admit as much. She wasn't about to admit to Jake that she had found herself wondering, in that matching session, what it would feel like if her were really inside of her, what his hands would feel like, now with her messed up brain, over her chest. Matching wasn't about sex, anyhow. 

Still, she forced a smile from a body that felt alien, even in this most basic sense, "No. For the record, I'm not upset about what you think I am."

Sam knew that the noise from the cafeteria gave her a moment to think.

Jake nodded to Regina, who had already gotten them a table, and they headed to the food line. She wasn't upset about the risks, not really. It was an easy cover. Everybody and their grandmother expected that she wanted to have his babies one day. It was an easy thing to explain away because she knew how to deny it well, no matter how complicated her actual feelings were about the possibility.

Jake interrupted her thinking as she lined up her wheelchair with the metal bars that served as a line for the tray she and Jake were going to share, "What do you want?"

Sam looked over the choices, and decided. The tuna was a safer bet than the egg salad, because they put chives in the egg salad, "There's chives in the egg salad." Jake needed no further explanation and picked up the tuna on whole wheat.

"How's the soup?" Jake asked, looking over the chili critically. The cafeteria was known for their food but it was still a cafeteria.

"It's decent." Sam allowed, grabbing about a dozen packs of crackers from the basket as they walked past the chili. Jake snapped the lid onto his bowl, and added an apple and a piece of cake to the tray. Sam had no intention of eating any of that, but she had never known Jake to pass up red velvet cake. "You didn't answer me."

They were waiting as a few doctors up ahead squabbled over who was paying for a fruit salad and a tuna on rye. The nurse behind said doctors was tapping her foot. Jake looked down into her eyes quickly, "If I honestly thought you were going to tell me here, I would have."

What was life if she couldn't shock him once in a while? Sam decided to throw it all out there, giving into the impulse that was dotting her mouth with rushed words. "I think the transfusion is the reason I can feel you inside of me all of the time."

Jake stopped staring at the basket of bananas with a sharp, "What?"

He didn't pick up what she was putting down. It all made sense to her. His blood was inside of her body. That meant that all of the sensations she had been feeling since then, came partly from the blood, and partly from her messed up brain, and not her emotions like Jen insisted. "Makes sense, right?" His blood still obviously was keyed to him, somehow, in some metaphysical kind of way. It made sense to Sam, anyhow.

Jake was standing there with a shocked look on his face. He opened his mouth to reply, but the cashier cut into their conversation, "Sir! You're next!" Sam looked around him to see the check out lady beckoning impatiently.

Jake slid the tray up to her and fished out his wallet, "You had multiple transfusions, Sam, not just me." He passed the lady some money, "Thank you," he said to the lady as she quickly passed back his change.

Sam hadn't known that, so she had some of her own thinking to do when Jake said, "So unless you're feeling a half dozen sensory things..." he was purposefully vague as they moved away from the food line, "I'd say your theory needs work."

Sam huffed. "I didn't say it made perfect sense, idiot, just sense." She sped up a bit to move a chair out of the way and settled into the table next to Regina, who had packed a meal from home. She started to talk about how her family had enjoyed hearing the story of her weekend but let the story drop when Sam's phone rang, the buzz cutting into the kindly woman's words.

Sam looked down at the screen.

She let it ring, and tried to encourage Regina to keep talking with a smile. It didn't work.

The phone rang again and Sam's apprehension grew. She turned back to the sandwich she was slowly trying to eat.

The phone rang for a third time in succession, and she decided to bite the bullet, have a short conversation and then turn off her phone. This would be the first thing she said to her father, privately, since she found out.

She could not do this, but she tried to think of Jen at her most in control, and picked up the phone, "Hello."

There was a moment's hesitation, "Sammy." Her father was not pleased. Good, Sam thought, great.

She was content to wait for him to speak, so long as she never had to say another word to him, "Sammy, you can't not answer."

Sam gripped her water bottle tightly and answered Jake with the roll of her eyes.  _Dad._

 _Oh._ Jake's pressed lips said. 

Regina looked unfazed, Thank God. 

She was on the phone with her father. She thought he would find that she could do just that. What an idiot. If he thought telling her she couldn't do something was going to stop her, he had another thing coming. She might be broken inside, but she would never let him see that vulnerability.

Dad spoke again, "Sam, can you hear me? Bryn and I are in the car, but I thought I would see if I could catch you when I had a free second."

Sam swallowed thickly, trying not to let on that that information hurt, tried to not care about why he was where he was. "I heard you loud and clear."

With that, she hung up the phone, turned it off, and shoved it back in her bag.

Sam knew that Regina took control of the conversation easily, chatting to herself about what a cute pair the doctors with the fruit salad and the tuna on rye made. Sam thought the one doctor looked too happy to be dealing with his acerbic colleague, but whatever.

There was the brush of fingers along the bony lines of her elbow sent a sliver of fission down her spine. Jake tilted his head as if to deny that he had touched her. Sam pulled the packet of crackers that he was crushing up to pour into his chili from his fingers.

Jake took the packet back from her with a sly grin, "What?" He ripped open the packet and shook it into his chili, "Maybe it was one of your other donors."

He knew that light, soft, touches drove her absolutely wild. Sam closed her eyes for a second, prayed a wordless, thoughtless prayer, and opened her eyes with a sigh.

Jake was sitting there, all but laughing at her with that stupid smirk on his face.

She rolled her eyes at him, and Regina caught the small movement. "Miss Sam, your eyes will get stuck that way, now."

Jake did laugh then. They turned back to their lunches, wherein Sam did her best not to think about the deadened and dying connection in her bag, and the one that was growing in her mind and heart.

_I will never know myself until I do this on my own_

_And I will never feel anything else, until my wounds are healed_

_I will never be anything till I break away from me_

_I will break away, I'll find myself today_

_I wanna heal, I wanna feel what I thought was never real_

_I wanna let go of the pain I've felt so long_

_(Erase all the pain till it's gone)_

_I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I'm close to something real_

_I wanna find something I've wanted all along_

_Somewhere I belong_

_Somewhere I Belong_ , Linkin Park

The sweat rolled down her spine.

Matrona stood there, against the parallel bars, glowing. Sam wondered why she never glistened when she sweated. They were supposed to be bearing their own weight and tossing bean bags back and forth between them, which they were, barely. Sam's eyes still slammed shut when things came at her, and her body still prepared for a huge impact. She hated playing catch. To her mind, it was no game. 

So, their main focus was on staying upright and keeping to the thread of their conversation, "...want to come, then?" Matrona asked, "You can even bring Jake."

Sam inhaled as the beanbag connected with her stomach. She caught it quickly, only having to grab the bar for a second before she hit the chair behind her prematurely.

At least Matrona was using Jake's name now, and not some crazy nickname as she had in the past. Mr. Yummy. Mr. Sexy. Mr. Tie-me-up-and-fu... Sam stopped thinking about those nicknames, because they were insane. She hesitated. "I don't know..."

"Oh, come on!" Matrona replied, hotly, as she easily caught the bag that cane her way, "This is my _goal_." Matrona stressed the word, "I want you there. I want you to do it, too. Come on, I know you have the drawing you want." Matrona said archly, pausing as Sam hurled the bean bag at her."Are you worried Mr. Yummy won't approve? Or are you still worried about your father?"

Sam caught the beanbag that was flung her way. "My father can go eat lead." She said hotly, "And Jake respects my bodily autonomy." Sam put the full weight of her conviction behind her words, though Matrona had no way of knowing what was really going on.

She loved Matrona, but she wasn't going to air her laundry, no matter how clean or dirty it was, out in the open.

"Well, then, put your money where your mouth is, and come with me." Matrona caught the bean bag, "Get Francy Pants to sign off on it, and come with me tonight."

Sam bit her lip. She did have a doctor's appointment when she was finished here, but she was just so tired. She didn't know if what Matrona was suggesting was a really good idea. "Matrona..."

With that one word, Sam knew that her mind was made up. She was going to seize the moment, do what she wanted to do, assert that her body was her own, and so her was life. She was going to throw caution to the wind. If she couldn't bring herself to end this half-life, she was going to find a way to really live. She was going to do this. And maybe, she wanted to see the look on Jake's face when he saw the ink spreading over her skin. 

Sam knew her fate was sealed when the other girl started to cluck like a chicken, a universal taunt. 

Matrona grinned knowingly when Sam snapped, "Would you stop that?"

_Can I hit you later?_

_'Cause it's my jam._

_So I've got your message,_

_Are you having fun with your fugly girlfriend?_

_I've moved on._

_Can I hit you later?_

_Thinking of You_ , Ke$ha

Hours later, Sam grabbed the consent form off of the counter, and stuffed it into her bag. Sue was leaning against the counter, eating some cranberries, "I trust your judgement." Her aunt extended Sam's bank card, "But you have to remember that this is permanent. I spoke to your father..."

Sam walked out of the room, "Thanks, Sue! Have a great night!" Sam ignored the part about her father, calling into the living room, "Jake, we have to meet Matrona." Sam stopped short. J

ake was standing right next to her. She hadn't needed to be quite so loud. It was so hard to just know how to modulate her tone and her volume anymore. They were working on it in speech, but the knowledge was no longer easily intrinsic. "Ready? Let's roll, yeah?"

Sam had settled into knowing that this was the right choice. She yanked up her loose tank top, and fiddled with the floaty cardigan she wore atop it. They were meeting Matrona at the cafe that a lot of people talked about, were going to grab some tapas, and then do this thing.

Jake frowned, "Are you completely sure?" He asked her again for the tenth time, "If you don't want to do this, you can just tell her that your father said..."

Sam shook her head, "She knows we're not speaking." Sam smoothed down the headband she wore, and felt the inklings of yet another surge in her headache. She was so tired of thinking, so tired of considering the consequences of everything she did from the second she woke up until the second she fell asleep at night. It was draining her and she couldn't do this anymore.

She was going to live. 

Jake sighed, "Feel free to use me, if you have to. Matrona already thinks I'm some kind of controlling..." Jake trailed off, not wanting to consider all of the things that Matrona probably thought about him. 

Sam wasn't going to fill him in. He was an innocent kind of guy, and he'd never survive hearing about Matrona's lurid mind. His blush would be permanent. She did not think he needed to know that Matrona mined for information Sam had no way of knowing just to rile her up. 

"She thinks you're..." Sam did not fill in the word she was thinking, "It's a compliment." To Matrona, being seen as in-charge, a confident, powerful guy, was a compliment. Jake really wasn't like that, though, at least, not in a way that discredited her own rights and her own voice. She was just as equally all of those things in their relationship. 

"Alright, just don't leave me alone with her." Jake joked. "She's scary." He turned down the radio and looked over at Sam, who was staring out at the bright lights they passed by.

Sam heard Jake mutter something about light pollution.

"You'd be Mr. Matrona by the end of the night." Sam teased, "Don't worry, I'd be your best man before being her maid of honor."

Jake just huffed and got over.

Sam turned up the radio.

She didn't want to revisit what she was about to do, and she knew Jake wasn't pushing it because of their session this morning.

Moments later, Sam found that Jake's assessment of Matrona was spot on. She was scary, and devious. She had lied about tapas and hauled them into their second destination without a meal to fortify their resolve. Matrona grinned, "You'd just goose out, Sam."

Jake was confused, but Sam knew what Matrona meant. "Chicken out. I would chicken out." Sam tried to correct Matrona. Her idioms sometimes needed work. Once, Sam had tried to educate her, but she thought English idioms made little sense. Sam had insisted she wasn't pulling one over on Matrona, but the girl hadn't trusted her.

"See?" Matrona waited for Jake to hold the door, "At least you admit it." She rolled up to the desk, one hand moving her electric wheelchair.

She spoke in Russian, said something quickly. The man grinned, and switched to English, "Tell Mira I said hello." He clicked through the computer screens, "You made these appointments three weeks ago, Mattie?"

"Don't call me Mattie!" Matrona snapped, and looked at Sam who had reacted to the idea that these appointments had been made so long ago. She nodded, "You didn't think we'd get in here so easily, even if my sister's pen pal is the secretary?"

"I'm not the secretary, Matrona." He passed her two sets of papers and gestured to a small waiting area, "Sarah will be working with your friend. Your stuck with me."

"I'm not going to tell you if Mira is dating anybody, you loser!" Matrona called, and muttered to Jake, "He so wants her. I'm matchmaking. Watch and learn, Jacob, watch and learn."

Sam gulped and tuned them out.

She scribbled on the forms, so sick of filling out medical forms, so sick of supplying medical clearances to do something so simple. Jake kept looking at her, asking her if she wanted to back out.

She didn't. She decided that when all of her forms and ID checked out, that she was glad she had given into the impulse that came to comply with Matrona's teasing. Dr. Francis had been reasonable for once about her request. Sam figured he probably had a dozen tattoos underneath his $500 shirt and white coat.

Still, when Sarah took her back, it took all she had not to bring Jake with her. She knew that he couldn't see this, would never understand what she was about to do. "Hi, Sam. I'm Sarah." She took one look at Sam as she pulled the curtain, "I promise this won't be too terrible. The hard part is in the choosing." Her voice had a soft lilt to it that Sam couldn't place.

"I'm used to pain." Sam admitted without shame. She figured that she had better acknowledge the elephant in the room.

Sam turned to her bag, fishing out a notebook, "I have a design idea. Would you like to take a look?" Sam paged through the notebook, and passed the butterflies, and the fairies. After a second, the silly shamrocks were bypassed, too. Finally, she came to the one image that calmed her soul, called to her, made sense to her when she saw it. It was an image that made her smile.

Sarah looked over the image, "You want the outline only? In brown ink?" She studied the picture, "They symbolize bravery." Sarah looked at Sam, "I think it fits you. It's cute, but strong."

She studied the picture intently, and took out her own paper. "This is a fairly simple design, Sam. Where do you want to put it? That will tell me more about how suitable it is."

Sam decided to push down her sweater, and the straps to her bra and tank top so that they hung over her shoulder sideways. She tapped a spot on the front of her shoulder. "I was thinking about here." It was a hidden spot on her body, but it wasn't very hidden or inaccessible. She was proud of what it meant to her, private as it was. 

Sarah paused, "That's entirely bone. Were you thinking about putting it anywhere else? It's a small design, I know, but let's consider all of our options, okay?"

Sam had read that boney spots hurt more. She closed her eyes and called up the sensation that was lurking all of the time in the back of her mind. Jake was right there, always. 

Feeling where it was strongest, she turned over her wrist, and pressed into her pulse point, "How about here?"

"I think if we tweak the design, that would work." Sarah nodded. As she worked, she spoke, "Who drew the design?" Sam peered over the calligraphy style strokes she had used, the simple design that was an outline of brown, with sweeps and curves in a small space. There would be no fill in color, they decided, so as to let the brown pop and the design to be as pure and as unfettered as possible.

"Oh." Sam said, unsure how to reply. The design wasn't really that great. Still, with some minimal edits and additions from Sarah, it was quickly crafted into a stencil that was fit for her skin. "I did. I used to be an artist."

"From the looks of this," Sarah replied, archly preparing her skin over the covered table, "You still are."

She didn't expect a reply, clearly, because she was pulling out her single use needles and checking for sharpness. Sam tried not to think about how they would soon be piercing the pale skin on the underside of her wrist.

Sam was fascinated by the process, by the look in Sarah's eyes as she surveyed the placement of the stencil on Sam's wrist. Sam watched as she placed her arm on the covered table, as Sarah mixed her inks. She showed Sam the ink and promised the brown would turn out more chocolately than it looked in the container.

The time was flying. Sam jumped when the machine started. Sarah paused. "You're sure? There's no going back from this."

Sam nodded, "I just...how do you get used to that noise? It sounds like a bug." Sam was honest as she could be without mentioning the shock the sudden increase in sound had been to her sensory perception. It made her feel like stimming, but she couldn't squeeze her wrist if Sarah was going to be working on it. 

She felt the cold wetness of the cleanser Sarah applied to her skin, and felt the gooey shift of the vaseline.

Sarah smiled, "It fades after a while." She rechecked her checks quickly, and said, "You're going to be okay."

With that, she lowered the needle to Sam's skin. It hurt like hell, and Sam gasped desperately.

Sarah noticed, and so she asked, "Are you from San Fran, then?"

Sam didn't shake her head, "I grew up in Nevada, on a cattle ranch." She was trying not to think about the pierce of the needle or the pang of homesickness that wouldn't leave her, no matter how angry or sad she was. The sound was nearly overwhelming, and the sensations doubly so. Dr. Francis had warned her, but not well enough, it seemed.

Sarah grinned, "Would you believe I grew up Amish in Holmes county?" Sam looked at her, trying to see Sarah in a kapp and plain dress rather than a bright pink shirt underneath an apron designed to protect her from airborne particles, "I can make a mean bott boi, but that life wasn't for me. I love my family, though."

Sam blurted an insensitive question, "Did they, like, shun you?" Sam thought of how difficult that must be, to really have nothing to go back to because she was unwanted. In that moment, Sam felt a kinship with Sarah.

Sarah wasn't offended, probably used to this question. "No. I was never baptized. I chose to leave, I guess. It didn't feel like a choice. It's just, some things are mutually exclusive, and there are so few Amish artists who do the kind of work I do when I'm not here."

Sam understood more than she thought Sarah assumed she did, "I didn't mean to pry."

She thought about her father, and decided that mutually exclusive was a good term.

Lies and love could not exists side by side for very long. Sam pushed those thoughts away.

This was her moment, her time of asserting who she was, a strong independent person. This moment wasn't about defying her father, some teenage rebellion. No, for Sam, getting this tattoo was about asserting that she could make her own way in life, and that she could be her own person, who made the choices that were right for her rather than what her father expected from her.

It was a moment of redemption, of taking the slate that that had been forcibly wiped clean and making her own designs upon it.

Sarah smiled, "I've finally gotten to the point that talking about my past, what made me, me, brings me joy."

She looked at Sam, and her smile shifted, "That takes time, though, and in retrospect, I wish I hadn't rushed it."

Sam understood. She didn't know if she would always feel Jake's touch, if she would always feel about him the way she did now, but she knew she would always remember what it was like to decide that she alone was responsible for her life.

She hoped that when she looked down and saw the bear cub on her wrist, that she would remember that everything she needed to survive was already in her heart. Dot by dot she was putting together her own life. With each prick of the needle Sam was solidifying her independence. Maybe she didn't know everything, but she would figure it out.

She didn't feel joy about this realization, because she knew the implications it could have, it would have. She had so many mountains to climb, but Sarah's simple words, her kind honesty, hit her hard when she least expected it.

Sam's eyes filled with tears. She didn't know if it was from the truth in Sarah's words or the pang of the needle. Sarah looked at her, and Sam swallowed brokenly, "I've just got to power through."

Sarah nodded, and the brown lines on Sam's wrist grew in number and thickness, "Good girl."

 _How much do I know to_ _talk out of turn?_

_You might say that I'm young_

_You might say I'm unlearned_

_But there's one thing I know_

_Though I'm younger than you_

_That even Jesus would never_

_Forgive what you do._

_Masters of War_ , Bob Dylan

 


	16. She's Got a Way

_We help to make each other all that we can be_

_Though we can find our strength and inspiration independently_

_The way we work together is what sets our love apart_

_So closely that we can't tell where I end and where you start_

_There's so much to look back on now_

_Still it feels brand new_

_We're on a road that has no end_

_And each day we begin again_

_Something that We Do_ , Clint Black

Jake shut the bathroom door behind them. "Do you need help with the cleaning?" Sam was leaning against the counter, staring in the mirror. The pain was apparent in her eyes, but it was hidden under a sleepy apprehension that Jake couldn't read well. Her nightgown bunched as she pushed the lid down the lid on the toilet, and sat down. Her slim feet splayed out in front of her, and she tucked them back quickly. 

Meanwhile, Jake pulled apart the kit that she had received from Sarah, pulling out the directions and giving them a quick glance. It was an easy enough process. The covering had been left on for the allotted amount of time, and it was finally time for this step. Sam was remarkably silent on the topic, refusing to tell him about her tattoo, even when he'd wheedled and pleaded. 

Jake turned on the water in the sink, knowing that the running water would make it possible for the bandage to come off. She had not let him see the tattoo at all, so this was exciting, though he tried to contain himself in the face of her subdued reaction. 

She wasn't speaking. "Sam?"

"Sure." She spoke, and Jake knew from her tone she was still sleepy. There were creases under her eyes from the pillow, and her hair was sticking up at wild angles. She was really adorable.

Because the bandage was small, it only took a small amount of water to remove it. Jake tried to be careful as he pulled away the adhesive, using the water. When it became loose, Sam pulled her hand away. 

Jake could not see the design because of the way that Sam had moved towards the sink. Sam inhaled sharply as she peeled off the bandage and tossed it in the trash. With her other hand, she shut off the water, and sat back down.

"Well, are you going to let me see it?" Jake asked, moving towards the sink to turn on the water, again. Why wasn't she shoving her body art in his face, crowing about how brave she had been?

Jake guessed she was still sleepy. She was looking at him, studying him, in a way that made him want to ask her if she had found what she was looking for inside of him. 

The water gushing out of the faucet made a reply almost impossible. It was funny, he thought, looking over the sink, how the simple placement of his kit on the counter could make him feel like he wasn't living out of his suitcase anymore. Kit thrived on that. Not Jake. He lived for, he thought, this. Whatever it was, that let Sam's expression shift to something that was trusting, after a moment of consideration. 

The water was warm, but not too warm, and Jake let it run over his fingers. He put some of the soap from the packet onto his fingers, and let the water mix with the soap before reaching for her wrist. The goo of soap was abrasive to her senses, but the foam, well, she rather liked that, apparently. Jake let the water fall gently over her skin, being careful to use his hands softly, rubbing, touching softly, not pressing, not hurting.

Water splashed all over the floor when he looked at her wrist. He looked down, and then back up at Sam's face, and back down again quickly. "Is that...?"

"No." They both knew she was lying.

Sam tried to yank her wrist back towards her own body, but Jake held it firmly.

He was transfixed. He couldn't let go, not if God Himself demanded it.

Upon Sam's wrist, bright and shining, was a small brown bear. The swooping lines created an unfilled outline of the shape that was delicate and perfectly suited to her small bones. The brown bear was chubby, cuddly. It was a soft design, graceful, with more nods towards silk than something harsher like fur. In fact, it was strange to see a bear that was so very cuddly.

With dawning clarity, Jake realized, it was clearly, very clearly, a baby bear.

A thousand memories, a thousand thoughts, rushed forward. His blood raced. Jake wondered how he could have ever, ever, hated being called that, not when he could see what it symbolized, what it meant to him to see a manifestation of those years and those memories on Sam's wrist. Their history was marked upon her, and now, no matter where they were, where they made their home, those stories, those memories, those emotions would be with them always. They hadn't lost anything important, not if they had each other. 

He had always felt that Sam was his present, his best friend, but now, he saw how much of his history she carried within her heart. She was, in so many ways, his storyteller. She kept their history alive, carried it forward in ways he never could. She was the one who was able to think back on their childhoods and tell stories that he had always seen as embarrassing, seen as pointless to who he was today.

He saw how wrong he was. 

Grandfather had always stressed stories, telling him stories he'd deemed irrelevant, stories about their mythical past, stories about wolves, coyotes, seeds, and the sky. Jake realized that he had not only been telling him those stories, he'd been telling Jake about the thousands of people that had led them to this moment, that had given them the ability to create their own stories, move into the future.

He realized, now, that in her own way, in a way their stories would never belong to anyone else, Sam was the keeper of their story. Every bit of it, he knew, wasn't only reflected in the tattoo, but in the kind way she navigated the world, in the steadfast way she refused to let him lose sight of what he knew to be important. She held fast to their past, honored it, and pulled them both into a future of their own making, like another link in a thousand year old chain binding their souls to universal good. 

What were you supposed to do, when you realized that your entire world was wrapped up in one person?

There was a firm tug that pulled him into the present. "I'm dripping all over the floor." Sam was worried. He could hear it, feel it, see it.

"Sam." Jake shook his head, "You...?" How did he ask her how she had always known, how she had come to realize, that she was the keeper of their shared story, that it was her energy in his life that led him to do what he needed to do, that it was her influence and actions in the world that changed everything? How was he to ask Sam if she knew what a gift this was. He couldn't articulate any of what he was feeling, what he knew he could no longer question. It made no sense, and yet, it was the most right thing he had ever seen.

"It was my choice." She said, never pulling her gaze away from his. The dried blood slowly slipped away, splattering and dripping into the sink. "It has nothing to do with you."

"You know that's a lie, right?" Jake asked, cupping more water over her wrist, and looking her boldly in the eye. He knew he sounded confident, knowing. 

He couldn't help the emotion that had come into his voice. He wasn't self-centered. He knew that she hadn't done this like some creeper who got some guy's name tattooed on her chest. It wasn't like that. She'd flay him alive if he ever suggested something like that. They were their own people. They had to be, to be a team. 

This moment, the tiny bear on her wrist, wasn't about creating a bond. It wasn't about forcing something to be there. Its presence was merely a manifestation of what was, what had been, and what would be. It was a focal point for the history, the emotion, the sensations that swirled around them.

Jake knew that people, for thousands of years, had tried to put things that transcended the physical realm into physical, tangible, things. As children, they were taught to cling to their baptisms, cling to the Water, and Word, to cling to the very physical things that described the Salvific act, a thing so much more than anything else was or ever world be. They were told to look at the physical reminders of these things, to remind themselves of how much bigger the thing that the object symbolized really was. When times got tough, they were told to, in their human frailty, to look to their baptisms, to look at that Water, and put their trust in the physical realities of that moment, hoping somehow to trust in the deeper spiritual meanings.

Sam's tattoo was that, for them, in a million and one ways. It was that simple, and that complex. "Yes."

Just that. _Yes._

That was all she said, a simple acknowledgment of her healing, her autonomy, her power. Jake didn't think she knew the significance of what she had done. She thought she was encapsulating her own story, but in his mind, he couldn't figure out where their stories were their own, and at what points they bled together. They were one in his soul. They always had been, and always would be.

"So you like it?" Her words were soft, searching, and hopeful.

Jake couldn't help the grin that bloomed across his face, "Yes."

_And I think that I like her, 'cuz she tells me things I don't want to hear,_

_Medicinal tongue in my ear._

_You say that my skin feels like no one else's,_

_That it's different somehow._

_But I don't understand, is a hand just a hand?_

_No, you don't understand._

_Masochist_ , Ingrid Michelson

Sam left the bathroom, her bare wrist sensitive and light after being trapped under a bandage. It would have to breathe for about an hour.

Sam could not have dreamed that Sue would react as she did. She didn't come out of her room for ages, just as Jake was cleaning up breakfast. Sam was glad he liked the bear. He had stood stalk still for so long, so long that Sam thought she was going to have a heart attack.

He had stared at her with something breathless and unfathomable in his eyes, something that made her question the meaning of the entire universe, even as she just wanted the moment to never end. Sam felt jittery, on edge, even as she had felt transfixed by his expression. He said he liked it, and that was enough, even if she did really want to know more about his thoughts.

"Well. Let's see it."

Her voice came from nowhere, and appeared right next to her. Sam jumped a foot, startling like she always did, now "Sue!"

Her Aunt tugged her silken dressing gown tighter around her figure, "Come on!" She said excitedly, happily, like a child on Christmas, "I'm up early just to see it. I couldn't stay in bed for one more second."

Sam smiled, not having the heart to tell her Aunt that she had been up for ages. Understanding that she had no choice, she turned her wrist slowly.

Selfishly, she wanted nothing more to tell her aunt no, that what was on her body was private. She really had not thought about anyone else seeing it, beyond Jake. She had wanted his opinion, but she rather had assumed that everyone else wouldn't really care. It was odd, now, that she felt so vulnerable, and on display. 

Sam extended her wrist, and slowly, turned it upward, exposing the chocolate ink that decorated the pale skin above her pulse. The bear sparkled up at her, its swooping lines forming a shape that Sam could easily make out. The back of the bear was curved, as he was a chubby, cuddly, little thing, only the barest hint of its future power dancing in the lines. 

Sam did not Sue's face pale as she grabbed her wrist, and held it between her finger and her thumb. She looked up at Sam then, utterly dumbfounded. Sam thought that the shape was easily seen. 

Her aunt's only reply was to say, "Oh, what a cute...baby...bear?" Her aunt's voice fell flat as she jumped to a conclusion.

Sam looked at her aunt, hoping that she would not _know_ , that she would not assume.

Sadly, she did just that, to a greater degree than Sam would have expected. "Sammy. I never thought you would...that we would have to have this conversation..." Her aunt dropped to sit on the coffee table, across from Sam, her peach silken slip-dress tugging over her figure.

"It's going to be less bright when it heals." Sam assured her aunt, hopefully, not getting what Sue meant. It was a bit bright now, but it would settle, become part of her body and her soul as time passed. Soon, they would all look at and seen nothing new or unusual about it. 

Sue's face tightened.

Sam pulled her wrist away, unable to resign herself to this consideration. She felt a deep urge to protect her bear. 

"Sam." Sue said, brushing back her own hair, "I forget sometimes that Grace doesn't know these things to tell you. I forget that women don't just automatically know these things." She lowered her voice, earnestly, "Honey, you never, ever, _ever_ , get a man's name as a tattoo, no matter how much you love him, or how you think you'll think you'll be together forever. I get that some couples are into marking each other up, but give Jake a hickey and be done with it!"

"Sue." Sam shook her head, something dark curling in her stomach, "It isn't like that..."

Sue gave her a look.  _Uh-huh..._

Sam frowned when her aunt looked doubtful, "It's a symbol. It's not literally a _bear_. It means..." Sam knew that she could not explain all the stories she'd ever heard about bears, or the ones that had always stuck with her.

"There was this sage once, who saw bears..." Sam trailed off unable to share really, what the story about a sage seeing bears dance in prayer and gratitude because it wasn't her story to tell. It wasn't her story in any way, and she wasn't sure she really understood it, no matter how much Grandfather's words had resonated with her. "Look... It's about courage, and freedom. But there's this duality of self-acceptance, of healing, and protection."

"Sammy..." Sue replied, "That may be true, and I'm sure you connect deeply to whatever you believe the tattoo to mean, but people who know you both are going to see that, and whatever reasoning you cook up is going to be blown up the very second you look at him."

Her aunt was not a happy camper.

How did she look at Jake? And what did Sue mean, "just give him a hickey?" This wasn't the turn her mind should be taking. 

Sam didn't know what people would assume, and she decided to take a page from Jake's playbook and not care. She liked her bear. It really wasn't about Jake. "What are you saying?"

"Sam. You need to have it edited." Sue said, "I'm sure they can do something with it. The design is very fluid." 

Sam turned the bear over, and gently traced it's shape with her finger, over his cuddly ears, down his rounded spine, over and out his rounded little bottom. Sam thought maybe she should name the bear. Something cute, maybe, but something just as imposing as he was supposedly supposed to be. Sam sighed, feeling the nerve endings dance, and yet, still feeling soothed by the action. 

Sue caught the soothing motion, "I'm going to hate myself for asking, but did you or did you not just trace a 'J' out of the...the thing?" 

Sam barely kept herself from screaming. "No, and I won't change it. _No_. It's my body. I made this choice." Maybe her tone was harsher than it should have been, but she had not expected the idea of changing it to ever come up "It's my body, and my bear, and you can't take it from me, and you can't do anything about it."

Sam knew that the full force of her will was behind this assertion. 

"You feel that strongly about it, then?" Sue studied her carefully.

Sam wasn't going to say anything. She had nothing to say. She'd said her piece. 

After a moment of no reply, she continued, "Well. I'll have to help you come up with a better cover story, then. You certainly stumbled a lot. It's a quick tell."

Sam knew that she had fumbled in expressing herself, but she had no way of making her aunt see that her bear, really, had nothing to do with Jake, not in the way she thought.

It wasn't like it was a brand. Jake had one, and she hadn't placed that somewhere on her body. She hadn't even considered it, and never would. She didn't belong to him, and he, he didn't belong to her. It wasn't about ownership.

When they grew up and had their own paths to follow, she knew that she would still proudly have this tattoo. She didn't know what the future would hold, but she knew that she could face it boldly, knowing that all of the things the bear symbolized would be central in her life. She would make it so, because the bear would remind her to hold to what was important.

Sue didn't speak, then. She simply stared at Sam. Sam didn't care, now that her wrist was turned in and tucked under her body. Sue was tense across from Sam on the couch. 

"Sam!" Jake called from the kitchen, "Want to go see the old people today?"

Sam pushed off of the couch, trying not to trip of her aunt's feet. Yeah, that sounded great. She had her own stories to create. "Sure!" She called back, "I'm due another marriage proposal." She held off from asking him if she should accept it, only because Sue was obviously listening, and she didn't want the woman to have a cow.

_I can understand how you'd be so confused_

_I don't envy you_

_I'm a little bit of everything_

_All rolled into one_

_Tomorrow I will change_

_And today won't mean a thing_

_Just when you think you got me figured out_

_The season's already changing_

_Bitch,_ Meredith Brooks

**_Six Weeks Later..._ **

"You okay?" Jake asked, leaning forward to brush his knees against hers, blocking the aisle.

The waiting area was crowded because of some medical conference in the hospital or something. Sam didn't know, and she didn't really care except that there was free stuff all over the place. Jake had heard portions of a lecture to medical students, and he was over the moon to be in the company of other smart people, in a place where discussion groups were milling about the place, filling the air with a kind of cerebral energy.

Sam bit her lip, thinking over how he should be at school, playing with beakers in the science lab and doing cross country, not sitting with her in the same chairs they'd used for the last weeks.

Sam took the bag of skittles from him and fished out the purple ones she saw on the top of the bag, "It's time, Jake." They had avoided this for ages, "We need to talk about it."

They had been dancing around the topic in therapy for a week, and that was a decade in therapy time. 

Jake paused, searching her face, "Haven't we?" Sam chewed the candies, feeling the burst of purple in her mouth. The solidified sugar was gritty and glorious in her mouth. She swore she could feel the sugar in her bloodstream.

Her euphoria was only slightly dampened by Jake's doubtful expression. He was the one who had asserted they'd already discussed this, even as doubt spread across his face.

She swallowed. "Make up your mind." She brushed a longer strand of hair out of the way, and let her palm fall flat into her lap. A little boy buzzed by with his sweatshirt flying behind him like a cape. His mother came racing up, calling his name.

Letting the noise pass, Sam continued, "I think this will be good." It would be several hours until her words could be proven or disproven, but she was trying to be optimistic. It was a discipline, a choice, a mental muscle. She could do this, because she was doing this.

Jake picked up his book, and slung Sam's backpack over his shoulder as they walked back to the nurse that was beckoning to her. Sam nodded to the nurse, who wore scrubs with vegetables on them. The leafy celery stalks were dancing with carrots, and tomatoes and radishes were jumping rope. Jake followed. The nurse spoke, brightly, "Let's get your vitals, Samantha."

"Sam." Sam corrected, following the woman clad in pastels back past a basket of bagels to an intake room. Sam figured that a nutritionists office was not the place for a bagel basket, but they were human, too, she supposed. The nurse, Kathy Jean, uncuffed a blood pressure cuff and stuck the sat monitor on Sam's finger without hesitation.

"Were you able to fast?" Kathy Jean asked, making down the necessary numbers as Jake observed from an out of the way location in the tiny doorway. Sam marveled at how old hat this process had become for her and wondered if the apathy was better than hatred and fear.

"Yes." After not eating for what felt like a decade, she had come here first thing this morning. She'd gone downstairs, had the bloodwork done, and stopped by a vending machine on her way upstairs. She'd already finished her chocolate bar and had hidden the wrapper in her bag due a lack of garbage can by the time she parked herself in the waiting room. Kathy Jean flipped on the digital scale, and Sam knew what to do.

She stood on the scale, and looked at Jake. After two beeps, he gave her a slow thumbs down, unseen by anyone but the two of them."Darn."

Kathy Jean made further notations in her chart. "You're still underweight." She bade Sam to step down. Reaching out, she felt for the chair behind her and slid into it. She unbraked the chair, and spun around quickly. Kathy Jean added, "Exam room five, please. I'll be along in a second to finish the intake."

Sam muttered, "Are we going to hear another lecture on things like eating the rainbow and making sure we get enough dairy?" Sam grinned, "Skittles and America's Best don't count, I guess."

Jake opened the door to the exam room after knocking. He was unfazed as his BMI was healthy. His body was, objectively, in fine physical condition. Objectively, Jake was, by necessity, at the peak of his physical condition. Objectively. "The BMI isn't always a good measure, and you have gained five pounds."

"I can't seem them." Sam replied, moving a chair out of the way to park herself, "I hate that Francis is still making me come here."

She intended to continue talking, but Kathy Jean appeared immediately, and began to ask other questions, like how her medication had changed, and how she was doing in PT. Sam explained that she had been able to stop some of the medications, and lower the doses of a few others, though one or two were still the same. She did not mention that it had taken all of the six weeks since she'd gotten her tattoo to make some of that progress.

Kathy Jean was glad to hear that she was progressing in PT, and asserted that changes in her activity level would mean more changes to her prescribed diet.

Sam waited in silence after Kathy Jean left again. Jake was reading some novel, so Sam passed the time thinking about how crazy the last few weeks had been. She flipped through her food journal, hating that this still mattered. She knew that it was important to get her eating under control, or at least eat enough to have something to control, so she came here.

Besides, blowing off appointments only worked once in a while. She'd grown some in the last few weeks, had come up with ways to jump ship before things got so overwhelming again.

"That egg thing we had the other day was good..." Sam said, offhandedly. Actually, she didn't recall eating the eggs, but she recognized the haphazard scrawl her writing had become when she tried to write first thing in the morning.

"Hmm..." Jake said, flipping the page of his novel. Weeks ago, she would have never have thought to advocate for her desire to have him there with her there, but after talking about it with Ella, Sam had started doing that, in some cases. The nutritionist was mostly logical, as he did most of their cooking. She couldn't stay at the stove very long, and Sue was abysmal at cooking.

With help from Ella, their relationship had grown, shifted, in ways that Sam couldn't quantify. She had been able to work through feelings and thoughts. It had been some of the hardest things they'd ever done as a family, but it had been worth it. In many ways, they were healthier, stronger, brighter in ways that you couldn't learn in school. School didn't teach them how to fight properly, how to apologize, how to read each other more deeply, not only for what was being said, but for what had not been said. Ella had done that for them, and Sam was grateful to her. Being emotionally aware had done a lot for them as people and as a family.

"And Sue managed not to burn the water!" Sam added, just to see what he'd say. Despite her initial reaction, she was happy about the weight gain, and she knew that she was slowly improving. It was good to know, that in some small but measurable way, her body was coming back to her. It felt good.

"Really?" He asked, reading his book, flipping a page. Sam knew he wasn't paying attention to anything she was saying. Sam decided to have some fun with this, as his reaction would be worth it. Sam thought for a second, mostly to throw him off, let him get back into the story. He was likely ten seconds away from looking at her with a stern expression and then pointedly turning back to his novel.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, and I accidentally dropped your iPod into some milk last night."

"Hm?" Jake said absently. She was shaky. The action was entirely possible. She had to make light of this, somehow, make light of the trembles and the spasms and the weirdness that wouldn't leave her body.

Within a second, the words hit home.

Sam smiled, when the book fell and Jake started patting his pockets frantically. "Don't worry. Sue put it in noodles, because we have no rice." Jake was staring at her, mouth agape, trying to fight his own anger.

Sam wished he wouldn't fight his natural responses. It was so rare for him to get upset about something, but a day without music for him was hell on earth. She understood, it was much the same for her, even if she did have to limit the time she spent listening to music. "I swear it's fine."

Jake looked up at her and it was all Sam could do not to laugh at him. She was being a bit mean, she supposed, but a girl had to have her fun. He was so easy to prank when it came down to it.

She had pickpocket him easily, and slipped the iPod into her pocket. After putting her notebook onto the small counter in the exam room, Sam bit back a grin as she reached into her pocket, shifting up in the wheelchair and pushing down on her footplates to do so. Jake spluttered, "Sam!"

She drew out the iPod, in perfect, dairy free, condition. Sam reached forward with a smile. Jake nearly snached it back, and Sam frowned. Jake clicked some buttons and put it away. "Theft is illegal." Jake cut her off, as she tried to speak, "Bring a book if you get bored."

"So pickpocketing you isn't an option?" Sam bit her lip. "I was only testing Matrona's theory." Matrona didn't really have a theory, but Jake didn't know that.

Jake muttered something about corruption, and turned back to his book. Sam grinned when he had to put it away as the nutritionist came into the room, but her smile faltered when he didn't even look annoyed at not being able to read.

_'Cause all you people are vampires_

_And all your stories are stale_

_And though you pretend to stand by us_

_I know you're certain we'll fail_

_Perhaps Vampires is a Bit Strong But...,_  Arctic Monkeys

Sam took the step up onto the treadmill and slowly got started. Matrona was on the treadmill next to her, her lycra top suited perfectly to her generous figure, "What the food police say?"

Sam never took her eyes off of the treadmill as she replied, "Same thing, different day."

Sam didn't even care anymore. Her body was her own, and they could only suggest to her that she put new things into it. "Jake's got it into his head that we should switch to whole milk."

He had said that the second the left the room. Maybe they should switch milks, maybe they should try to keep more scheduled meal times, maybe, maybe, maybe. One more ounce of scheduling in her life, and she would go insane. She wanted Jake to say what he thought, not what he thought he should say. He hated whole milk. He thought it tasted fatty, and chalky, but there he was, talking it up like it was the greatest thing ever. It made her angry.

"That's not all he's got into his head." Matrona said, picking up her pace slowly. "Then again, you were the one who got his name tattooed on your wrist." Matrona's gaze flitted over to the therapist that was mere feet away, but she didn't lower her voice, "Didn't anybody ever tell you you never put a man's name on your body?" Sue was such a blabbermouth. Matrona came over a few times, and suddenly, she and Sue were best friends.

It had been weeks. Weren't people over make salacious remarks? Wait. This was Matrona. 

Sam looked around the crowded gym. "Matrona!" Sam shushed her frantically. "It's not his name!" Sue had thought differently, of course, and had gotten this shocked look on her face that Sam still looked back on with something strange she still couldn't name coloring her thoughts.

At the time, she'd been angry at Sue for even suggesting the idea, but Sam had grown enough to see why people made such assumptions about their relationship, no matter how untrue they were.

That wasn't it, at all. A bear was about strength. Healing. Protection. Comfort. The fact that the bear on her wrist was, in fact, a brown bear cub, had nothing to do with anything. In the past few weeks, Sam had come to see that she had smallish wrists, so the cub was for the size and the cuteness factor, and the brown ink was because the chocolate brown looked better on her skin than a harsh black, and whoever had heard of a green bear? Sam didn't understand why no one believed her rationale, her reasons.

"Whatever." Matrona rolled her eyes, a few moments later, after Kyla checked on them again, forcing the other girl to hold her words. "Have you told Jen, yet?" Matrona's curvy shape was efficient as they fell into their shared pattern of movement.

Kyla had brought them into larger group sessions now that they were a bit more stable on their feet. They had scant moments to chat as they worked out, before and after Kyla pushed and pulled their bodies into shapes. Sam had discovered her therapist was big into yoga and Pilates, and even though Sam wasn't stable or strong enough to complete most of the moves, Kyla insisted she modify it enough to at least try.

Compliance got the woman off her back.

Sam ignored the question and it was the only reply Matrona needed.

Sam hadn't mentioned the tattoo to Jen. She had come to understand that Jen would never get it, not after Ella's reaction.

They were so much alike, Jen and Ella, and Ella had gone insane. Well, as insane as any clinical psychologist might. She had insisted that her admonition to do something fun had not included body art.

Sam had deadpanned a reply "I should have figured you'd meant Baskin Robbins." Her reaction or her choice hadn't gone over well with Ella. She had actually tried to tell Sam that she didn't need to make insane gestures to prove her feelings, though she hadn't used those words, of course.

Sam had snapped at Ella that it was none of her nevermind, telling her crossly that Jake understood, and it didn't make things strange between them. He took care to smooth the lotion into the healing skin, brushing over her pulse point as he did so. The warm brown bear on her wrist wasn't even about him. Why couldn't something be about her, about how she felt, how it made her feel?

Sam had been defensive given that she'd argued with Sue about it, and had let too much slip.

Then, Ella had wanted her to discuss things that weren't there. Sam liked her bear, because it was hers.

The comfortable lines did not contain a lowercase J as the bear's spine, no matter what Matrona said. The girl made it sound like there was hidden meaning in the bear's very formation. Sam had drawn the thing. She would know if she had created it to use anyone's initials, and she had not done so.

Her body was her business. It wasn't a big deal, not even in the dark of the night, when Jake's breath would brush over the skin in reverence. It wasn't a kiss. It was a gesture of comfort, and she liked knowing that he drew comfort from something that was so meaningful to her.

Jen would make it one heck of a big deal, though. Jen didn't care one whit about any hint of romance between Sam and Jake, because she knew better than anyone that there had never been anything like that between them. However, Jen would want to know why she had put the bear on such a public place on her body. Jen would suggest that she try to cover it.

Sam didn't have the heart to do that. She didn't want to muffle the visible part of her soul. Staring at the healing bear had been emblematic of her own healing over the last six weeks. As her tattoo had healed, so had Sam.

She didn't care what anyone thought, and the price of not caring hurt less as every day passed. She wasn't anywhere near herself, yet, but at least she could admit that, even to herself. Progress was progress, even when it sucked to be so real with herself.

 _Cause we made a promise we swore we'd always remember_  
No retreat, baby, no surrender  
Blood brothers in the stormy night  
With a vow to defend  
No retreat, baby, no surrender

 _No Surrender,_  Bruce Springsteen

Jake waited, thinking about Sam downstairs, with Matrona.He hoped that they would not be socializing after this, as he just wanted to see Sam. Matrona scared him, to be honest.

Jake had taken to scheduling his appointments while Sam worked out.

Today, he slid into the session room seconds before Dr. Ayers appeared.

Dr. Ayers took a different approach than Ella. Whereas she confronted people head on, he often forced a person to do their own talking with very little verbal feedback. He had made Jake stand up to himself in more ways than one.

They worked well together, and he trusted the older man. He would have to, in order to face some of the memories and emotions that had been triggered intentionally in this chair.

Jake stowed his bag by his feet and tried to ignore the ring of his phone in his bag. "If you want to get that, you may." Dr. Ayers offered. The man tried to make their sessions informal, relying on coffee mugs in a comfortable office to get the job done. Books and papers lined the desk, and were forced into haphazard piles upon the walls.

Jake ignored the buzzing.

Jake shook his head, "No." They had discussed this before, and Jake's answer would not change. He had agreed with Sam's choice, and they had made an unspoken promise to each other.

She was right, and what they were doing was right. He often didn't know how to handle things, but she did, and he would trust her.

"Jacob, we've talked about avoidance behaviors." Dr. Ayers knew darn well who was calling.

It had been seven or eight weeks since Wyatt had stood before him and tried to pay him off, six weeks since he had betrayed his entire family. The time had faded, but the actions remained, even through conversations about fight or flight reactions and avoidance behaviors. Jake had nothing left to say. "Have you considered speaking to Wyatt?"

"I have nothing left to say." Jake asserted calmly. He had nothing left to say to the man that had betrayed his entire family, thrown away everything. Jake had heard through Quinn and Dallas that Wyatt had hired somebody named J.J. to replace him.

Jake didn't care about the job, but he cared that Sam had not been part of the decision making process for a place that was everything to her. Wyatt had cut her out, and now, Jake was replying in kind. It was petty, but he had to protect his family. If that meant being petty, so be it. 

When Sam had heard about J.J., she'd hidden the flash of emotions from her eyes, but not before Jake had seen the anguish bloom within them. Jake had sworn to himself that that was the last time she'd hurt like that because of something Wyatt Forester had done to her.

He would keep that promise, no matter what Ayers continued to say. "Wyatt's said his piece. I've said mine. We're done."

"Have you honestly said your piece, Jake?" Ayers asked, borrowing his words, "Does he really know what you think and feel? Last week, we talked about being away from your home and what that might mean for relationships. You said your mother can't see what was going on because she is here to see it. Do you think Wyatt should have the same-"

"No." Jake replied, "I don't."

Wyatt didn't deserve respect, beyond the general respect every human deserved, and in his case, Jake questioned even that. What kind of human did that to his family? He looked around the room, and found himself wishing that he was hanging around the gym, or even eavesdropping on the medical students. Still, he'd come to see that he needed to be here, especially when he didn't want to be here. The low chair he was sitting in forced Jake to sit back, and look squarely at the distinguished doctor.

Jake didn't know if Wyatt did know, but he wasn't about to waste his breath on somebody who wasn't worth the effort. It took so much of him to admit that a man he had idolized and respected was no longer worth worrying over. "He knows what he's done, how his actions have impacted Sam and me." Jake wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how hurt they were, or the power that came with it.

Ayers segued into another subject, "And yet you still blame yourself." 

 _Yes._ "It's not blame, it's responsibility." Jake's phone did not ring again. Jake hoped Wyatt was not bothering Sam, now. 

"For the accident?" Ayers pressed, again, and again, and again.  This over and over and over discussion of the same memories, the same moments, were a part of the treatment, part of moving past the flashbacks and the PTSD. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. 

"I don't want to go back there today." Jake replied. He did not want to delve into those memories today. He did not want to live them again. Not today. It felt too raw, too close to the surface, and frankly, he just wanted to not let them rule him for 30 fucking seconds. 

"Okay." Ayers agreed. "How are you doing physically?" 

The man had put on his sex therapist hat, then. "My shoulder feel asleep last night." Jake deadpanned. Sam had been cuddled up against him on the couch, and his arm, at some point had fallen asleep. The pins and needles had been painful, but worth it, as they'd been just enough pain to allow his mind to switch tracks, instead of focusing on the soft woman in his arms. 

"Jacob." Ayers sighed, "You know that this is important. You brought it up, and we can't let it fall by the wayside. Sexual responses are an important part of understanding and treating PTSD."

Jake didn't exactly regret what had happened to let Ayers know about his functioning. He'd been incredibly concerned about it, not that he couldn't get off, but that there was something evil inside of him, something that made him even more unclean. It had been a weight on his soul, until that day in the art room, when it had become a clawing panic. 

 He'd made the mistake of talking about Sam at the art lessons. He'd admitted that when he looked at her, he had finally felt like himself again. He guessed he must have revealed too much to the man he eventually discovered to be as perceptive as he was frank. 

Ayers had said that day, "So, you felt arousal?"

Jake, unused to talking about such things, had blushed, then gone white. Those other times, they weren't... 

Ayers had prompted again, "Let's talk about what you did feel."

"I felt...happy. Whole, again, you know? Like something in my soul had clicked into place. And I mean, yeah." Jake worked around words he wasn't ready to use, "It wasn't like I was sitting there, _wanting_ to, it just happened, and it was the first time since the accident." Jake had replied.

Ayers had seen through him, Jake knew in retrospect. "It was the very first time you'd gotten an erection since the accident?" 

Jake had deflected, "I'm not Quinn, okay?" Quinn could be the scapegoat for once in his life. Jake spent zero time thinking about his brother's habits, but he wasn't above using the sibling relationship to deflect an intensely personal question. 

He could not tell Ayers the truth, in that second. 

"No." Ayers agreed, "But you are a presumably healthy 19 year old man, and if you aren't functioning typically, then we need to investigate physiological and biological concerns that may be impacting your physical and mental health." 

"I'm fine." Jake snapped. He did not need medical testing. He was perfectly fine. Why did Ayers seem to think that his biggest concern should be his dick?  "Forgive me if I've been dealing with a lot." 

Ayers hadn't dropped the subject, quizzing him. 

Jake had finally started talking about the dreams, trying to make sense of the things that he had revealed. He finished speaking, "It's most every night." Or it had been, before he'd come to San Francisco. He hadn't seen that pattern then, though, "They start off good, you know, like a stupid fantasy. And then, they get so dark. Dark, just, and I hate myself." 

Ayers accepted this reply, "Dark, how?" 

"Dark, the accident, dark." Jake said.After a second, he elaborated, "One second, I'm in the middle of...we're..., and the next thing I know, I'm watching her die. I'm watching her die, and it all just goes to hell, and then..."

Jake could barely keep a lid on the emotion spilling over into his voice, "I...I...wake up screaming her name, and in pain. I can't get off on that. I'd never try. And I'm..." 

Ayers, on that day, had point a point on the issue, saying something that Jake had never had the courage to put into words. "Afraid that if you try to think of something good, your waking fantasies will make you vulnerable to flashbacks." 

"Yes." Jake did not want that to happen. He did not want to see the evil in his mind, or let on as to how bad the nightmares could be. 

After a moment, Ayers had continued, "You said your fantasies are stupid." 

"Ayers." Jake had said, that day, frustrated. Ayers did not need to know that he literally dreamed about riding the range, hanging up wash, just sitting on that swing. He dreamed about seeing Sam in her element. 

"What are they like?" Ayers pressed him, interested. 

Jake had blinked, and reared his head back. "What?"

"What are they like?" Ayers elaborated, "What happens, what makes it a fantasy, what makes it something that allows you to become aroused?"

Jake thought for a moment, and remembered throwing out the words that made the most sense to him at the time. "They're just, peace. Wholeness. Rightness." 

"What type of sex are you typically having in your dreams?" Ayers had asked. 

"It isn't sex." Jake had said. He wasn't going to talk about sex with Ayers, not because he was a prude, but because those thoughts, those moments, they were sacred manifestations of his soul, not because they involved him, but because they involved Sam. Or some part of her that he'd cooked up in his head and heart, but still... 

Ayers gave him a look. "You know there is no judgement here, no matter what you say, Jacob." 

"I am not talking about that with you." Jake had snapped. He wasn't going to tell Ayers about the soft sounds that he'd dreamed about. He would learn later, that some of the best forms of intimacy were not at all sexual. Jake held the times he'd let his heartbeat match to Sam's in some of the most secret parts of his heart. Of course, he hadn't known that, then. 

"Okay." Ayers had nodded, "So what leads up to the sex, in your dreams? Is there any lead-up, any foreplay, or are you just there?" 

Jake wanted to make something very clear. He didn't choose this. It wasn't something he wanted. "I never think 'I'm having a sex dream.' It's usually, we're just together, living, doing something stupid, and then..."  

"And then...?" Ayers urged him forward. 

"And _then_ , and then in the middle, the dream becomes a nightmare." 

"Hm." Ayers said. It was from this discussion, Jake remembered, that Ayers had gotten a clearer picture of his PTSD. 

Jake allowed, "And so I just...don' let myself..." 

Ayers had asked for clarification. "Ever?" 

"It isn't right." Jake had been resolute and certain. 

"Why not?" Ayers asked, tilting his head, "Some would say it's a biological reaction." 

Jake had known, even then, how simplistic that answer truly was. Then, though, he'd not been able to hold back what he was really thinking. "Some would also say it's pretty shitty to use your best friend to get off." 

"You're very close." Ayers knew that much. "It's normal to..." 

"Normal to wake up screaming her name, never sure if its because I've just watched her go into hypovolemic shock or because I was just dreaming about being so deeply inside of her that I'd never not know how alive she is?" 

Ayers cleared his throat, and Jake turned away from the memories. So much had changed. But today, they didn't go back there, didn't revisit the dreams. Instead, Jake said, "You know her aunt still thinks that Sam's tattoo has my name in it?" 

Ayers took a cue from Jake. They'd talked about the bear from time to time. Well, Jake had mentioned it for some reason or another. Sue was still being huffy about it. "Does it?" 

"Don't know." Jake shrugged, easily, shifting against the comfortable chair, so unlike the stylish couch in Ella's office. "I doubt it. But it makes me think that I might be..." 

Ayers threw a word out there when Jake did not speak for a time. "Trapped?" 

It was completely the wrong word. Jake corrected him, looking at the man's grey eyes. "Safe." 

"And how does that make you feel?" 

Jake's eyebrow went up. "Good." 

Ayers understood what he did not, at this point in the session, say. 

 

 

_I never go around mirrors_

_I can't stand to see me without you by my side_

_I never go around mirrors_

_'Cause I've got a heartache to hide_

_I Never Go Around Mirrors_ , Lefty Frizzell

Three flights down, Sam was trying her best to haul her foot into place. She was sitting on the floor in front of the mirror, staring at her black yoga pants and purple shirt. She had abandoned meditative breathing, which she wasn't very good at, in order to think.

Kyla had been called away for a second because some five year old was having a meltdown. At least the screaming had stopped. Sam felt badly for the child, but the shrill noise hurting her brain.

Sam had settled some things in her brain, things that she hadn't even mentioned to Jake. Her objective was not as clear as it had been. For weeks, she had been planning to stay in San Francisco with Aunt Sue. She had been planning to make a life here, one that, while not very full of the things she had loved, would at least be free of the hurt that she was experiencing.

But all week, she had been seeing Jake around the medical students, seeing him come alive as their weeks of counseling got some kind of foothold in their life. It had been a tough row to hoe, and it was by no means over. She had come to realize that a life free of pain for her, was also a life free of meaning. All of the things that hurt were the things that mattered. She was okay with living like this, because this was her path. She would have to accept the things she could not change.

Still, she couldn't help but take in her reflection in the mirror. Sitting up without support was taking up most of her concentration. Sam frowned, wishing that she could just gain a little more weight, gain a bit of balance. Staring at this body, in this room, was hard, because she had healed enough to consider long term implications of it.

Sam tilted to the left without realizing it and pushed with her arms to center herself before she hit the mat. Sitting was now a chore, not something she had to stop doing. Sam didn't know why that still hurt so much.

She knew that her words weeks ago to Ella had been right. Jake had to go. She was holding him back.

He didn't want to leave. That much Sam knew. He didn't want to go, or at least that was what he thought. They hadn't come out and discussed it, but any second, Jake would come downstairs, and he would expect to have the conversation that she had insisted they have this morning. J

ake had refused, saying that when she was tired and hungry wasn't the time to talk about anything other what she wanted to eat when she could. He needed more than to hang out with a lame best friend who couldn't even do the things that had made them friends in the first place.

She was his past. She would always be, but she could not allow him to sacrifice his future to a world wherein he considered it normal for his reading to be interrupted by meaningless questions about her diet.

That moment had stuck with her. She could not allow him to lose himself to this hospital, this city.

There was more for him out there. He had amazing potential to be and do amazing things, and so Sam knew that she could not Jake to lose the tiny parts of himself that made him who he was.

Sam caught herself leaning and straightened, focusing on the spot in the mirror that would hold her head steady if she stared at it hard enough. It was a bit of streak from Windex. Sam wondered if the person who cleaned in here knew how strategically it had been placed.

Jake deserved more. He deserved a friend who was everything he needed, not some lump who couldn't even sit.

Sam's eyes fell onto the bear onto her wrist, and she thought back to the moment the bandages had come off. Jake hadn't really needed words. He understood that what she'd done had been a representation of trying her darndest to accept the changes in her body, in her brain, and grow from them, to dance in the sun whenever she could find it.

The vibrant animal was once again hidden when she let her wrist fall into a natural position, and she liked that, liked that the bear was a hidden, secret, part of her emotions that was always there. She also liked that it was she alone controlled who saw it.

She turned it up again to make sure it was still there as she thought about what it would feel like to watch Jake walk away.

Yes. The truth burned like acid. She had to stay, he had to go. It was true, but it wasn't right, it wasn't right. Sam knew it was wrong that she could not make the truth seem rational. The whole process made her feel like she was Drizella Tramaine squeezing into Cinderella's glass slipper.

She closed her eyes, and felt the pounding in her head as the little girl began to cry again. Another memory flew forward, but Sam pushed it away. She repeated the process until she found one that didn't make her want to cry.

She missed Gram.

She missed Kitty.

She missed Ace.

She missed her cattle.

She hadn't understood what being away from them would mean, and now that she was starting to consider what to do for the rest of her life, the waters were becoming murky. Thinking about her horses, even for a few scant moments, made her heart race.

She ached to get out of this mirror filled room, ached to get away from seeing the evil in her soul. What kind of person did that to their horses, just walked away, even if they had no other choice?

She should have demanded to know that they were okay. Her pleadings to her father were obviously worthless. He hadn't cared, and she couldn't count on him, and this J.J. clown was...her replacement. 

The pain and the self-loathing in the mirror shook her to her core.

Sam turned, and made sure the brakes were on on the chair.

Pulling up into a half kneel, she pushed forward and up to stand with only two attempts. It was a victory. Sam felt the shift of her weight and knew that she could do this, could rise above this, could make herself be something that was not so awful.

She would let Jake go, and she would make sure her horses were okay. It was just the process of doing that was more oppressive than the literal force of gravity.

Kyla would come back in a minute, probably to observe her, and help her should she need it, but Sam didn't want to wait around. She got back into her chair, and clipped the belt quickly.

She wheeled out into the main room and found that Kyla was making her way over, a look of disapproval on her face.

Sam cut her off, "I have to go." Sam saw that the little girl who had been causing the fuss was gone. Sam hoped she was okay, even as she envied her ability to just scream and cry when things didn't feel right. They all should be so lucky. Nothing felt right, most moments, and Sam had had to learn to control her urge to scream it out. 

Sam looked up into the woman's dark eyes, and felt relief when she nodded. "You're all set, though I wish you would have waited." Sam knew that her transfers were her business, and if she had damaged Kyla's trust in her, she would deal with that later.

Sam took the clipboard, signed her name, and grabbed her bag from the accessible hook. She pushed the electronic door with slightly more force than truly was needed. Sam pushed herself to the cafe on the end of the ward, where the ER met the rehab.

She smiled when her turn came, as Blythe took her water bottle easily, and dropped three lemon wedges into it, filling it with cold water after she had done so. "You're early."

Sam took the bottle, and slipped it into the side pocket of her bag, which sat on her lap, "Thanks, Blythe."

The woman had already moved onto the next coffee order. Sam knew that she was expected the next day. Wednesday was apple bar days, wherein there were fresh oatmeal squares with fresh fruit baked in sold at the tiny cafe booth. Sam sipped at the water, pausing in the hallway to catch her breath.

In the past few weeks since Sam had been using the water here, and instead of the stale therapy cooler, Blythe had set one aside for her. Sitting was hard work. She was making her way to the elevator bank when she saw Jake.

He fell into step beside her, and took the water bottle from the mesh side pocket of her Jansport. "God, that was awful." He swigged down water quickly. She knew that he was talking about his session. They often felt like workouts, like a celebrity trainer was standing behind them, screaming, "Run! Run! Faster! Faster!"

Empathizing, Sam considered her words. "Is this a good time, now?" He had asked her to wait. She had eaten, and she had waited. They could not avoid this forever.

Sue had brought home school district papers, and left them on the fridge.

It had been a tough sight for them both, and Sam knew that this would be the conversation that Jake would say something not unlike, "I have to go, I don't want to, but..." and she would lie, and she would sell the last bit of integrity she had, and she would say, "Okay."

They couldn't let this hang between them. Silence only bred fear, and she could not handle one more ounce of it.

Jake held the door as they exited the lobby. Sam knew that they were going to have to talk about this, no matter what he said. It couldn't be avoided. "Sam..."

"You've said two words since Sue brought home those papers, Jake." Sam said, trying not to get angry with him. "I need to know what you think."

_"At least it's a start..." I said, "It's better than nothing,_

_I ain't in no hurry but I'm ready when you are..."_

_And she said, "Where do you think all this is going?"_

_I said, "There ain't no way of knowing...I guess I hadn't thought it through that far..."_

_I Got a Car,_ George Strait

Jake avoided the question. He was good at that. He avoided. He was a fight or flight kind of guy, with heavy emphasis on flight.

He knew that.

Ayers said that he should examine what he was willing to fight for.

He hated Ayers, sometimes.

He mentioned throwing one punch two years ago, and suddenly, the guy's whole perception of him seemed to shift. He hadn't started the fight, but he'd finished it before Quinn killed the guy. Thinking about the bastard that hadn't known when to step off was a mere annoyance. He'd done what he wanted to do.

Quinn had never brought that friend around after that, that was for sure. Jake recalled that Sam had been annoyed, when she'd found out, and had huffed and puffed about him and Quinn being idiots. Jake also knew that she hadn't been too mad at him, though, because he'd somehow ended up with the frozen peas to hold over his hand, whereas Quinn was left with the baby carrots.

Ayers didn't get it. Clocking some idiot didn't make him a better person. According to Ayers, though, it made him different. It made him nuanced, and spoke volumes about his values. If anything, Jake thought he had violated his core principle of non-violence that day.

Sam had been fourteen at the time. _Fourteen_. A little, colt-legged fourteen year old child, who still thought it was normal that her grandmother had ironed her Sunday clothes and packed her lunchbox.

Grace didn't nag her about homework anymore, but the point stood. Hitting that guy hadn't been some big thing. Some words required action, not words, in reply. Maybe that guy and Wyatt had something in common, after all. Maybe that's what Ayers had meant. He had gone on about connections, and maybe that was it.

"Jake?" Sam broke into his thoughts, chewing on her bottom lip as they sat in silence.

Jake didn't bother to start the Scout. He stared at his hands on the wheel. "It's your choice." It had to be her choice. This was her life. So the papers that would enroll her in school here were burning a hole in her backpack, the blue ink with Sue's signature shining brightly upon them. What did it really matter what he thought? This had to be her choice.

"I know that." Sam replied, slowly. "I want your help to make it." With that, Jake knew his fate was sealed.

"Have you made a list?" He asked, finally looking over at Sam to see her pulling yet another notebook out of her bag, along with a pen. What had started as a task to help her develop memories had become a daily tool for her. She relied on lists, she said, because she could not rely on her brain. He knew what it was like to not trust his own brain, and had started to keep a sticky note or two in his pocket. It was better than worrying about Sam getting ink poising from watching her make lists on her own arms.

Sam nodded, "I made a pro/con list." Ice surged in his veins when she began, "For staying." She began to read it, her voice warming up as she did so. "Pro: No dad. The Hospital. Medical care. Freedom. Nobody cares what we do, or where we go. Ella. Sue. Libraries."

She switched sides, after exhaling, "Con: Actually being here, and actually living with Sue. Edye. No..." She stumbled, "No horses. The awful feeling of suffocation when we look out the window. No Gram, Max, and God help us, Quinn. I miss Jen. Not to mention all of your friends, and your life, too."

Jake tried to think. He didn't know where to start. The answer was clear to him. The priorities they had had to be elevated above anything else. Those priorities were clearly outlined. His tongue felt as though it was coated in chalk. "So we're agreed."

Sam nodded. The simple action broke Jake's heart, even as he knew it was right. This was the right thing.

Staying was the right thing. They were slowly building a life here. It wasn't what he had assumed his life would become, but it was slowly becoming something they could handle.

Sam spoke, "I agree. We need to go home, Jake. I want to go home." She spoke softly, as though she were shocked at the very words coming out of her mouth.

She looked floored, and reached up to touch her lips, a look a of wonder on her face.

Jake just looked at her. "What?" The words almost caused him to do a double take, "Why?"

"Our world is there." Sam replied, slowly, as though the thoughts were rushing forward, before she even had time to think about what she was saying, "I admit that avoiding Dad is a strong incentive to stay here, but I'm not going to let him take what really matters from us."

"Sam, what matters is your health, you can get..." Jake tried to find the words to tell her how happy he was that they were putting some order into the world, building up daily rituals that made a life.

Sam cut Jake off, "I can get PT anywhere, but I swear to God, Jake, this isn't our home. I don't know how we're going to make it there, but we have to try. Do you really think a library is worth giving up everything?"

He didn't. She knew didn't. But, staying was the right thing.

Everything, even the list that was tense in her hands told them that. They had information. They had to follow it. "Sam, we're making this work. Shouldn't we stick this out, you know, for a year or two?" Jake tried to propose the direction his thoughts had been taking recently. He had been thinking that they could make this work, "You could finish high school, and..."

Sam sighed, shaking her head, "I don't want to look back, eighty years from now, and say that we made it work. If we're going to live, we're going to do it on our own terms. Dad thinks he's scared us off, and he doesn't have that power. If we want to go home, we're going." Sam finished sternly, "So I'm asking you this, and I want you to be honest. Do you want to go home?"

Jake knew that by going home, going back to Three Ponies, they would be giving up much of the control in their lives. In going back to face the familiar, they would be facing the largest unknown they had ever come up against. "Don't tell me to leave you, Sam, or walk away. I know you're trying."

She had been trying for weeks, to push him away, even when she pulled him closer, tighter, every time she pushed him away in some kind of reaction. He never budged, so Jake wondered why she was trying. Their joint sessions with Ella had done much to improve their ability to read each other. It was bordering on freaky, now, sometimes. It wasn't perfect.

They weren't perfect. After all, this revelation made less sense that the actual Book of Revelation.

"Jake..." Sam's gaze never wavered, though Jake that his words had been true. She was trying to push him away, with her warnings and her logic. It wouldn't work. She hadn't figured it out, no matter how many times he told her he wasn't leaving. She would, one day, even if he had to wait 100 years to hear her come to terms with it.

Jake took her hand. "Yeah." Her wrist was palm up, and he tried not to stare at the mark on her wrist. It wasn't about him.

Her tattoo wasn't about him. He liked seeing it there, though, more than he should probably admit. He would never tell her that the mere presence of it, there, on her wrist made him feel things he couldn't define, in ways that sped up his heart and made his mouth dry out. By now, he guessed he was used to that feeling, because there was a flood of comfort within him when he saw the small bear.

This response, this everything, whatever the hell this was, was about them, together. They were writing the stories, now, the stories that would one day be told.

"Yeah?" There was hope in her voice, hope she tried to shove away. Jake could hear it. If Sam could be brave enough to go back there just because she knew it to be right, Jake could be brave enough to repeat himself.

In his mind, he saw them spending the next few years here. He would probably get a place of his own, and take courses here. Sam would probably go to school and make friends. They would go to church on Sundays, and slowly, they would stop caring that they couldn't see the stars at night. They might, if they were lucky, forget what seeing them had meant to them both, deep in their souls.

"Yeah." Jake agreed. Sam knew what really mattered. He had to trust her. Brushing his fingers over her wrist, he felt her pulse-rate accelerate for a brief moment. The tattoo she had gotten seemed more vibrant in that moment. Jake knew that in going back, there would be things and lessons they would take with them.

They would not be powerless, not if they stuck together.

_Gonna climb the mountain_

_And look the eagle in the eye_

_I won't let fear clip my wings and tell me how high I can fly_

_Well, I have walked through the fire_

_And crawled on my knees through the valley of the shadow of doubt_

_Then the truth came shining like a light on me and now I can see my way out_

_One Way Ticket (Because I Can)_ , LeAnn Rimes

Had they really made up their minds? Sam frowned as she sat on the big bed in her room at Sue's.

Her legs stuck out in front of her, and she was staring at the ceiling. Sue expected that she would stay here. So did Dad, or so she had heard from Sue. She was so tired of doing what was expected of her, so tired of not knowing what to do.

She knew what she wanted. She wanted her life back, even when everything within her said that this was the absolute wrong thing to do. She had crawled her way up the ladder again, and no one, and nothing was going to take her right to live away from her, not Dad and the woman, not her medical condition, not her well meaning aunt, and most especially, not her own fear.

She had earned the right to live beyond her own fear.

For Sam, this choice was the ultimate test. She was throwing away her hard won security to go back there, go back to a place she wasn't even sure wanted her. She asked herself for the thousandth time why on earth she was doing this.

The words left her lips in a whisper, "This is the right choice for me." It was. "For me, this is the right choice."

She dreamed about having a life in which she was control of her future, in which she alone made the choices about her future, and she knew that staying here would be the worst kind of cowardice. Staying here would be complacency. She had worked too hard to become complacent. It might be wrong, but it felt right.

Sam flopped back on the bed. There were so many issues facing her if she went home. Where would she live? How would she sleep at night? What about school, about PT, about Jake? What about Jake, Sam thought, looking up at her wrist as she held it above her head? 

She had to know more about how he was feeling. Of course, he hadn't said much to her other than giving his consent, but Sam knew that a begrudging consent wasn't consent at all. She wanted his freely given, joyful, enthusiastic consent, and more than that, she wanted him to be involved in making this happen.

"Jake?" She called, into the living room, "Am I insane?"

"Yes." He called back, "But you're also right." He did not need to know what she was talking about. Obviously, it was weighing heavily on both their minds.

"Really?" Sam slid off the bed, and padded out into the living room.

She was scared, she realized, petrified of actually doing this, walking away from all of the progress she couldn't take with her. The ability to ignore Dad would be lost, as would the efforts she made to ignore confronting the accident, but Sam knew that sometimes, the right thing to do was the thing that seemed the hardest, or even the most logically incorrect.

This was wrong, and yet, she wanted it more than anything in the world.

Sam looked at Jake, who was sitting on the couch with a textbook and his laptop, working on some class work. He heard her in the doorway, and looked up at her. "Don't ask me to explain how." Jake replied, "Because this is crazy, but it's right." He didn't look too happy about the illogical realization, but he seemed accepting of it.

Sam nodded, and went back to her room. She didn't want to see Dad. She never wanted to speak to him again, but he was right about one thing. She did have an obligation to her horses to keep them away from that evil woman. Kitty didn't deserve that, and neither did Ace. Sam made a new list, trying to think. The logic didn't add up, but she knew that this was the right choice.

_And this road gets so cold_

_And at times it feels so long_

_But I just keep moving on..._

_'Cause I don't know any other way_

_Than putting my misery on display_

_Putting My Misery on Display_ , Gary Allan

Sam almost wished Jake had come along.

He would know what to say. Sue had insisted that she needed to go shopping and that Sam had to come along

. Sue held up a bright jewel blue sundress. "What do you think?" The light was bright in the store, and Sam hoped the garish lighting was highlighting the awful color of the dress. A girl who wore that would look like a peacock.

Sam tried to find a kind word, "It's very...bold." She wanted to say that it was ugly, and if she had been speaking to anyone else, she might have. Jen would know better than to even yank it off the rack.

"Sam." Sue said, flipping through the rack of day dresses, "You need school clothes. School starts in two weeks. This is a clean slate for you, honey." She pulled out a green dress that Sam liked, but frowned and put it back. Sam knew better than to speak up.

"What, do you think I'd be the most popular girl ever?" Sam tried to mimic Daisy, even as her heart pounded.

How was she to even tell Sue that she wanted to go home, go against what she and Dad assumed Sam planned to do? Sam wondered why they were even standing in this section. Shouldn't they be over in the power suits and bold print section? Did they even have a section like that in this store?

Her aunt paused, "When you dress well, you feel well." Sue insisted, pulling out a grey number. "You're trying this on."

Sam didn't think the dress was half bad. "Didn't we come to look for you?" The tinny music in the background was driving her insane, and Sue's haphazard method of shopping was more than her brain could process. Her brain ached. God damn her sensory perception. She refused to say disorder. It was what it was. How could it be a disorder? It wasn't like she had another brain to compare it to, only... 

"Shopping is a group activity." Sue replied archly. Turning to look at Sam, she paused, "What's wrong?" There was a quiet sympathy in her voice that tugged at Sam's heart.

"There's nothing wrong." Sam denied. "I just don't know how to tell you that..."

A woman with her daughter walked by, and Sam listened as the girl went on about makeup. Sam wished that she could have been able to be worried about things like that.

"Hm?" Sue asked, excitedly, flitting over to another rack of floaty garments that Sam couldn't identify. "What?"

"Do you think my father loves me?" The words came out on an impulse, as Sam was wheeling over to her Aunt after her chair got caught on a hanger that had been left on floor. It was her fault for not looking, not seeing it, not the person's who had left it there.

"I think it's impossible not to love you." Sue pulled another thing off the rack, and Sam saw that it was a shirt. It was a very impractical shirt.

"Sue." Sam corrected, crinkling her nose at her aunt's non-answer and the frilly top.

"Yes." Sue put the shirt back and looked at her, "I know for a fact that he does. You're 16, you're going to fight with your father and not speak to him for weeks. You just are a bit... different than most girls because you're not forced to live with him."

Sam was as honest as she knew how to be in that moment. She wanted to go home, but she knew it wasn't the right choice. This conversation was just further proof, one that she needed to share with Jake. "I heard he hired someone to replace me."

"He has some kid filling in for Jake, not you." Sue corrected, seeming to understand, that yes, they were having this conversation in the middle of the racks. The girl and her mother had long moved on to the cosmetics section.

She and Sue were speaking in low tones, but Sam didn't even care.

"The difference being?" Sam asked. She didn't see the difference, because there was no difference. It was Sue who couldn't see it. She and Jake had worked together, been two parts of a whole that they would never be again. That was what they'd had.

They didn't have that anymore. She would never be the kind of rancher, the kind of cowgirl, that would be able to stand next to him, and live the life they had once shared. It hurt more than most things ever did or would. 

"The difference being that you can replace a hired hand, not a daughter." Sue snapped, "Trust me, I know. Mimi and Papa knew." She seemed to remember to whom she was speaking, and Sue became softer, "Nobody can replace their kids, honey. It's useless to try."

Sam wondered what Mimi would think of the man her daughter had married, now. "And yet wives and interchangeable." Sam volleyed back.

That rankled her. The anger that bled into her voice was unmistakable. A family was built because of a love between two people, and if you took that away, you tore that family to shreds. Her family was like that, even on the most basic level. Max and Luke. Dad and Momma. 

"Sam." Her aunt sighed. Sue's bright top heaved with the sigh, so put upon was she.

They had had some variation of this conversation several times. Sam kept hoping that one day, somebody would see how she felt. 

"I'm just saying." Sam tried for nonchalance, but they both knew she wasn't just anything. Her words were emotionally laden facts, "If you can replace a wife, you can replace the children she gave you."

Sam guessed that that statement was true, because Sue tossed the hangers she was hauling over the rack. "Have you ever considered for one second, in all of this, that you are more than your mother's daughter?" Sam didn't look at her as Sam reached over to a blue shirt, "That you're you're own person, worthy of being treated as an individual?"

"I know that." Sam replied, sorting through the neatly folded stack for the shirt she was looking at, "I think you miss the point, Sue. He chose. He can't choose one thing, and then have the benefits of the other."

"Nobody can, not even you, Sam." Sue said, softly, collecting her load of garments again. "You're a cowgirl at heart, Sammy. I know it. That's who you are. You can't choose to hide away here, and still be who you really are."

What did that even mean?

Did her Aunt somehow know what she was thinking about? This conversation, though, was turning her doubt into cement pillars.

"Are you saying you want me to leave?" Sam's heart stopped as she rolled beside Sue towards the dressing room.

"No. I want you to stay with me." Sue looked at her with a very strange expression that Sam couldn't read, "But I love you, and I can't let you not speak to your father. The love of a daughter and the love of a girlfriend are not mutually exclusive. You do your father and yourself a disservice by insisting otherwise."

Sam tried to make Sue see, as they made their way into the dressing rooms. "You don't understand."

"No. I don't." Sue replied, pausing in the large open space, "I think Wyatt needs to know how you feel."

"Why?" Sam asked, "So we can make his abandonment all official, so we can turn your guardianship papers into adoption papers, so that he can twist my words and make himself into the victim?"

Sam looked at her aunt, the acknowledgement of information Sam wasn't supposed to have heavy between them. She knew about the guardianship. How could she not realize it?

Sam explained exactly how she knew about the guardianship, not how she had confirmed what she knew to be true. They were two different questions with vastly different answers. "You forget I know my father. I know what he's doing. He's doing what he wants, and is crowing all around that it's best for me, not him."

"What do you want me to say, Sam?" Sue replied, anger and exasperation tinging her voice. Sam thought she heard some embarrassment there.

"I want someone to validate my feelings." Sam said, trying not to think of how she sounded, "I want you to admit that the fact that he's carrying on like he is eating you alive."

"Why?" Sue asked, "Because he's moved on, and you haven't?" There was a sharpness, a catty, awful tone, a snide awfulness that couldn't hide the stab to Sam's heart. 

Her tone softened, and her eyes grew searching, "Honey, life changes everyday. It changes. Look, didn't your relationship with Jake change when you got your tat-..." Sue stopped talking before the question was finished, and avoided another bone of contention between them to make her main point, for which Sam was glad.

Her body was not up for discussion, and neither were the things she chose to do with it, "We have to roll with change, and be happy wherever we find ourselves. Lou would want you to be happy. I don't see a happy girl in front of me."

"I haven't been a girl in months, Sue." Sam replied, "I wish I was." Sam wished her father still thought his duty was to her. She wished, that just this once, he would pick her, though she would never admit it.

"Oh, honey." Sue said, "He loves you very much." Sue reached out to hug her, as though the conversation was settled.

"Love's a verb, Sue." Sam shook her head, "I think I'll buy the dress." There was no getting through to her aunt.

Sam was a glutton for punishment.

She kept trying to make her see, but she knew in her mind that Sue never would.

Her heart argued otherwise.

_Are they trying to tell you something?_

_You're missing that one final screw_

_You're simply not in the pink, my dear_

_To be honest you haven't got a clue_

_I'm going slightly mad_

_I'm Going Slightly Mad_ , Queen

Monday morning dawned brightly. Jake tried to ignore the trucks, the blare of Edye's talk shows, and the shrill voice she used when on the iPhone that was glued to her hand. He hated that woman, more than he hated all of the things she stood for. He almost hated himself for wasting time thinking about how awful she was. 

Sam was lying on her stomach, so she simply pulled her closer and went back to sleep.

Jake was back to sleep when his phone buzzed. He fumbled with the night stand and grabbed it, nearly ripping the charger from the wall. He read, "What house is it? Blue door, or orange?"

Jake read the text twice, until another one popped up in the thread, "Jake!"

The phone started to ring then, and he picked it up.

"Nate, are you high?" He whispered. He reluctantly pulled himself out of bed, and sat on the edge as his brother spoke. He had to be dreaming.

Why on earth was Nate here, of all people? Nate was a busy guy. He did not expect any of his brothers to come out here, and yet, one had shown up at the front door. How come his brothers could do that, but Wyatt could not?

It came down to the fact that his brothers cared, and Wyatt did not. Simple truths were the hardest to swallow.

"Just because I'm in San Fran doesn't mean I'm smoking something funny." Nate said, "The pot's better in Oregon and Washington, anyhow. Never mind, I see your truck." After a second of staring at his phone, Nate ordered, "Open the door."

Without thought, Jake pulled himself out of the bedroom, and brushed past Edye's episode of  _Paternity Court._

Standing at the front door in his lounge pants and AC/DC t-shirt, he watched as Nate bounded up the stairs, his leather jacket out of place in the heat. "You look like an idiot." Jake asserted, flicking a glance at his brother's shoes.

"Yeah, well, at least I'm awake and dressed before lunch." Nate was unfazed, because he knew Jake didn't know how to tell him how happy he was that he was here. This was how they communicated, and it was not meant to be hurtful. "Are you going to let me in?"

Jake stepped back, and let him in. His big brother seemed to fill the entryway. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a hook, looking around for Sam. "She'll be up soon." Jake said.

"Don't wake her." Nate said. Jake wasn't sure what to do. Edye was in the sitting room, as Sue called the space, watching  _Paternity Court_  and blathering on the phone. The commercials came on and, she went into the kitchen.

Jake sighed internally and watched as Nate turned off of the TV and plopped down in the chair. "So, what's new?" Nate asked conversationally.

Jake knew in that second that Mom had sent him out here. His brother was here in on recon. "Tell Mom I'm fine." Jake replied archly, and he watched as Nate colored in good humor.

Nate was cut off from replying as Sam shuffled out into the living room.

She was dressed, though obviously rumpled. Jake hadn't seen her go into the bathroom. Edye hadn't even bothered to check on her. Sam's sundress was carefully tied in a small gather over her small ribcage. Jake thought it was funny that she had obviously put an effort forth to tie a tie that was merely decorative. You could hardly see the bow from where it rested just below her chest. 

Without opening her eyes, she grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the chair. Or, rather, she tried to take it.

With Nate sitting there, she couldn't pull it away. She tugged twice, before opening her eyes. "What--?" The words died on her lips.

Nate spoke, "Hey, Sammy." With that, he moved so that she could take the blanket.

"Nate!" She exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" Jake thought the deep purple of her dress, from the short sleeves to the hem that covered her knees, made her look far more awake than she actually was. Sam sat down in her spot, and turned her body to pull up her feet onto the sofa.

Nate, unaware of the control Sam had over her body, asked, "Do you need help?"

Sam paused, losing her progress in lifting her right leg as she turned her body slightly, and said, "No."

Jake understood the inflection in that word. She was simply stating a fact, but there was a warning there not to press her. She was glad Nate cared, obviously, but he knew she got frustrated by people's assumptions. She especially did not need that from her own family.

Nate made the mistake of asking, "You sure?" Jake heard the concern in his brother's voice, saw the same concern in his eyes. Nate wasn't taking the non-verbal cue from Jake to shut up. He was trying to tell him, but Nate's focus was on Sam.

Sam said, coolly, "I'm sorry, are you losing your hearing?" She nearly lost her balance as she moved, and it was only because of a ton of practice that Jake didn't automatically jump up before she could steady herself against the soft pillows, "Or did I wake up in some alternate universe wherein everything's opposite and my no became a yes?"

"Woah." Nate said, "Take a chill pill." Jake knew that Nate had no way of knowing that his advice was really accurate, just not in the way he thought. Sam was slowly cutting down on pain medications, and it was hard on her physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Sam smiled sheepishly, her task completed. "I haven't in a while. I'm sorry, Nate. Really."

Sam grinned, but tensed slightly as Jake sat in the spot next to her, and lifted her feet into his lap.

Nate's eyebrows rose. Jake didn't really know why, until he shot a pointed look at Sam's feet. Jake realized then that the blanket was on the floor.

Placing a gently firm hand on Sam's knees to hold her in place, he reached down to grab the throw. Isn't that what Nate had meant? 

Shaking his head, Nate continued. "I was in San Jose and then I thought, why not pop in on Jakey and Sammy and see they are getting up to? Mom gave me the address."

Sam grinned. "You may report back and say we're fine, oh minion hers."

Jake smiled, glad that his perceptions of Nate's initial question had been spot on. He knew that Nate was here because he wanted to be, but he also knew that Mom would have set him to getting as much information as he could gather.

"Who you callin' a minion?" He joked. "I'm starving. Are you guys up for lunch?"

Sam faltered, and Jake understood her hesitation. They had nowhere to be for once in their lives, but it took them time to get up and around. Sam was often challenged when they went out, and he understood that she might not want Nate to see that. If he misunderstood the facts of her progress and blabbed around about things he didn't understand, it would really hurt Sam.

Sam gave them an out, pretended to misunderstand Nate. "Uh, sure. The Claw heated some stuff."

Nate asked, "Why don't we go out?" Nate was a single guy, and had probably eaten at every restaurant in every city on the West coast as he traveled for the store. He didn't have anyone to cook for, nor anyone to cook for him. Jake knew he spent a lot of off time alone, and going out was a way to mitigate what must be a very lonely way of living.

Jake looked over at Sam, running his hand gently over her sock clad feet. "You up for a trip?"

She nodded, biting her lip, looking toward the kitchen door. Edye was on the phone with a friend, as she often was. Sam called out, "Edye?" Nate was watching, obviously taking everything in, and Jake hoped this encounter with the Claw went well.

The woman poked her head in the door, saying to her friend, "She's calling, you're going have to repeat yourself, Heather." She saw that Sam was fine, rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly, and went back to the kitchen after holding up her hand in a wait gesture.

Sam hissed at Jake when she saw the tightening of his jaw.

He couldn't help it. 

Nate didn't look too pleased, either.  _She criminally insane or just a rabid bitch?_

He shared a look with his brother that contained a wealth of information.  _The latter._

"I'll go get my shoes, and then she'll be done, and it'll be fine. " Sam's voice was panicky, but she was trying to soothe them both, soothe him. "It's fine."

Jake's gaze softened and he shook his head.  _It's not okay._

He wasn't upset with her, and she didn't need to work so hard to keep things on the down low.Nate wasn't the sort to go to Wyatt to curry favor. He didn't really know the details, but he was disgusted by the man, or so Jake thought.

Sam turned off the couch, gravity helping her legs to settle on the sitting position. She leaned into Jake for a nanosecond before pushing up.

Nate's gaze flew to Jake's as she left the room. Nate asked, "What is going on?"

Jake's face was nearly bloodless. "She's evil, and Sam is afraid of her." Jake tried to feel badly using that word about the Claw, but he couldn't. He couldn't. It was mild in comparison to what he really thought, but he had been raised better than to call any woman anything like the words his mind knew, even when the woman in question was evil.

Nate was shocked. Jake knew he was. Sam wasn't afraid of anybody. She'd stared down cattle rustlers and Linc Slocum, for God's sake, while injured. Jake could see the disbelief in Nate's eyes, so he tried to explain.

Jake spoke softly, "She's vulnerable right now, and Edye exploits her. I don't like her." Actually, he hated her with every fiber of his being.

Sam walked in, thankfully not having heard the first part of what Jake said, "Shush. She'll hear you!"

Jake said, watching as Sam sat down on the couch. "I don't care."

Sam began to put on her shoes. She leaned down and tried to maintain her balance enough to pick up her foot enough to angle it to make it into the shoe. She fumbled around a little, being that her trunk control was poor, and looked to Jake.

"I should go get my clogs." The flats she had selected obviously went with the dress she was wearing, and the light covering thing she had shrugged on.

At that moment, Edye rushed in, fake tone in place. "Sammy, you should have told me you needed me." Sam's toes curled into the floor as she tried to strip off her own socks.

Sam's hands shook, and she fisted one beside her, hidden in the couch, "My name is Sam."

Edye twittered, ignoring her, "Honey, don't you worry, I'll put on your shoes for you." Sam did not let go of the flats. "They're so adorable." The Claw's tone set Jake's teeth on edge.

Suddenly, he realized that the fake sweetness was a show for Nate.

Nate looked disgusted.

Sam put an end to the charade, "Edye, have you met my brother, Nate?" She was resigned to the introduction, and made it with a bold calmness. Jake hear the laughter in her voice. She was laughing at the Claw.

Nate didn't nod at her, or make any sort of move toward friendliness, "Hi." Edye was no longer even aware that Sam was in the room. She had gone from fake sweet to a woman with a scary predatory gleam in her eye in ten seconds flat.

Edye looked to him, uncaring that she bumped into Jake, and said, "Hey." Jake wondered if that 'hey' was supposed to sound like Edye had really bad COPD after running up a flight of steps.

Sam was biting her lips, hard, and Jake tried to ignore the tightening of his stomach. They were ten seconds from laughing.

Edye now looked like she had dust in her eyes. "I'm Edythe. You can call me Edye, though."

"I'm taking Jake and Sam out to lunch." Nate said, making it clear that she was not invited, as he glanced over at them.  _Shut your faces, losers._

Jake didn't even know why she was still around, but the company wanted the nurse to finish out the month. After that, Edye would be moving on to another client. Regina would be working daily, with reduced hours. It had taken three weeks or so to work to that conclusion, but Jake could not wait. He didn't know how that would be handled with their plans, but he was just thrilled that the Claw would be gone without some epic showdown.

"Wonderful." The aide replied, "I'll get my bag. It's company policy that I come." Jake about groaned. She never care where they went, but throw a single guy into the mix, and she went insane.

Jake stole a moment when she left the room, asking Sam "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She said, with a calmness Jake could not feel.

Their previous humor felt so grating, simply because they knew it, like the nickname, was a defense mechanism. Jake wanted to talk about this, but Sam turned her eyes on him, and he was shut down with one word, "Stop. I don't want to fight about this right now." She looked over to Nate, quickly, and back at him. Jake got the message. She changed the subject as he knew she would. "Should we take the chair, do you think?"

Jake thought for a minute. "Yeah, maybe. If we can't get parking..." He trailed off, not bothering to answer the questions he saw in his brother's eyes.

_I laugh and I act like_

_I'm having the time of my life_

_as far as he knows_

_But, what he, what he don't know_

_is how hard it is to make it look so_

_Easy_

_Easy_ , Rascal Flatts ft. Natasha Bedingfield

Nate didn't get it, they were only going to lunch. Jake could see his misunderstanding bloom and Sam felt the tension within her rise. He soon saw what Jake meant. Getting to the restaurant was different, now, and Jake knew no warning would prepare him for the small but significant changes in their lives.

Edye talked the whole way there. They'd agreed to go to a place that Nate liked and drove there, finding a far away parking spot. After an extra few minutes for Sam to get settled into her chair, they began to walk.

Nate, if he were going to be honest, was a bit freaked out by Sam's chair. Sam saw him as he watched as she moved through cracked sidewalks, and came finally to a restaurant door. It was a cheery place, stylized with two small and one large large steps in the front.

They stood on the sidewalk as Nate's heart hit his feet. Sam saw him glance at her quickly. He hadn't thought, she realized. People didn't, not until they lived like this. It was second nature, in some ways, for her and Jake. She had assumed the place would be accessible, and hadn't thought ask, even when Jake checked that the chair was in the trunk. "I think there's a great Chinese place down the block."

Sam knew that there was, but she could not allow this to stop her. She glanced around only to find there was no ramp, not even around the side of the building. "Don't be silly. Edye, I forgot my wallet in the car." She quickly hatched a plan, knowing how much time she had, "In the console, will you go grab it, please?" She had left it there because Jake had grumbled about her paying, so she'd humored his ridiculousness, and put $25 in her pocket, locking her wallet in the car.

Edye didn't know that, though.

The girl frowned and moved off, dialing on her phone. Sam spoke, "We're...going to do this."

"What's the plan, Brat?" Jake asked. She knew that he knew what she needed from him, but the question gave her a chance to tell Nate what to do. He was standing there like a lump on a log with this look on his face that Sam didn't want to interpret.

 _This is it, this is my_ _reality._ Reality was crashing down on him now, and it was better that he see it in its fullness. Giving up and going to another restaurant would teach him nothing.

"Nate, carry the chair." Sam began to stand up, unbuckling her belt. Her hands were shaking as she lifted the footplates out of the way. She stood, grabbing Jake's hand. Her grip was clammy, and they realized it at the same second. "Jake."

"Brat." Though the word was soft, because Nate was there, Jake ran his thumb over the center of the bear on her wrist.

Sam grinned, and gripped the hand offered to her because there was no railing to be counted upon, though she looked down as she went up the steps with much more skill than she had the last time a member of her family had seen her do it. She had worked hard to develop the form, to do stairs over and over in session. The actual real world application was tougher because "I'm terrified..." She whispered, "that someone's going to come out."

Jake spoke, obviously joking, "Well, if Quinn decides to come out, I'll be sure to let him you're not going to be happy."

"Stop repeating yourself, idiot." She said, making it to the landing. The next step was the large one, and she had to leverage nearly all of her weight to make it up, feeling the strain in her hip flexion as she did.

Soon, they were standing inside the entryway.

Nate put the chair down, and Sam slid into it, hoping no one saw her knees wobbling. She tried to tuck her hair back, the damn frizz was escaping everywhere. So much for trying to look pretty today.

The hostess said, "Are you okay?" For once, a stranger in this city wasn't looking at her like she was a freak.

Sam nodded, with a small smile at the girl. Nate said, "Four, please." Sam tried to make the girl see that nothing unusual had happened. If they had wanted to come here and Nate hadn't been with them, she would have waited outside while Jake took the chair inside, and then come inside to find it waiting. It was no big deal.

Edye came back, holding Sam's wallet. "You should get a bag or something." She sounded so put upon that she had been asked to go and get it, like it was some grand quest. Sam didn't even care about her tone because she felt good about having gotten inside, even if the circumstances did embarrass her a bit. She tried not to think about how abnormal she was and how much she stuck out.

Sam nodded again, and the hostess led them to a table, removing a chair. Sam asked softly, "Do you have a ramp?" The hostess moved easily around the chair, not touching Sam, or being annoying and placing them at a table they would never be able to use.

The girl shook her head, "No, sorry." She paused, lowering her voice as she fiddled with the menus as a cover, "I'm supposed to tell people it's broken, but that's bull. My mom's in a chair, and I've threatened to sue. I'm sorry."

Sam wondered what it had like been for the girl, growing up. Had she felt that her life was so radically different? Did she think about her mother's disability? Those kinds of questions weren't the sort you asked the hostess during the lunch rush. She wanted to know, though. Did this girl feel like her mother had done the best she could? She did she feel cheated out of a normal mother? How had her father coped? Did she love her mother? How had her mother done it? What if her father was gone, and she was left alone with her mother? Had the world let her mother keep her? Had her mother ever worried, long before she even existed, about these things? 

Sam wanted to pull her aside, beg her for information, but she knew better to pry. Suddenly, she understood why people asked her questions, some of the time.

Sam shook her head, as she was passed a menu from Jake, who sat next to her. "It's not your fault. I needed the workout."

The girl smiled in understanding, "Selene will be your server. The soup of the day is cheddar bisque, the vegetable is asparagus in a butter reduction. It's actually pretty good."

_I get my back into my living_

_I don't need to fight_

_To prove I'm right_

_I don't need to be forgiven_

_Don't cry_

_Don't raise your eye_

_It's only teenage wasteland_

_Baba O'Riley,_  The Who

Small talk went around the table, which meant that Nate had to carry the bulk of it.

Jake wasn't about to bail him out. Sam was looking at her menu, and Jake was looking at Sam out of the corner of his eye.

Edye began to talk. She told Nate all about her family, and her ill mother. She said her job was a real boon to her mother, and to her entire family. Jake knew that she was trying to emotionally manipulate them all into keeping her own with extra hours. How dare she trot out a sick mother to a woman who would give anything to have her own mother back?

The look he and Nate shared was dark. There was a storm in Nate's eyes that he knew was more intense in his own eyes. 

She went on and on and it was quite stilted, even as she spoke in an falsely animated way.

Finally, Sam started talking about food. "What are you getting?" Sam asked Jake.

Jake could not imagine how on earth his brother, the one who'd grown up on his mother's cooking, and massive amounts of it, had come to like a bistro. It wasn't expensive, but the food was supposedly crisp, clean, and creative, or so said the menu.

It was pretty filled with business people doing lunch, which gave him some idea of how Nate knew about this place.

Jake said, "No idea." He looked to Nate, after reading about a risotto, "You eat this...?"

"I like their sandwiches." Nate said, almost sheepishly, "Plus, their fries are really good." Sam hid a smile that Jake saw behind her water glass. He had always loved potatoes. Jake remembered one Easter where nobody else had gotten seconds on the potatoes because Nate had scarfed them down.

Jake grumbled, "We should've gone to Cracker Barrel." He liked Cracker Barrel better than this place. He felt huge at the table, like he was going to break the chair. His shoulder brushed against Sam every time he moved, and he couldn't touch her, couldn't pull that clip out of her hair, not even when he saw the headache building between her eyes.

"Why, because when you're there, you're family?" Sam teased. She was teasing him about the commercial they'd seen on the TV.

He liked the Coke Cake. Why was that so very funny?

He frowned, "I wish you'd stop making fun of me, Brat." He didn't really, but it was no fun if he didn't egg her on somehow.

"If wishes were horses..." She sighed.

And just like, that, the moment turned tense. It became clear to Jake that Sam's wishes were horses. He understood, then, what she meant about priorities. Maybe the things he thought were important to her really weren't all that meaningful.

Maybe he had been wrong in assuming things about her pro/con list. Things didn't seem quite so objective. She was happier than he had seen her in ages, sitting here with Nate.

They needed to talk. Jake caught her eye, and there was a wealth of information, of hope, within them. Yeah, they would talk.

Her fingers brushed his under the table, and just like that, the tenseness in his soul faded.

Nate finished, "But they aren't." Nate was oblivious to their interaction, moving along with the joke like Jake hadn't just had some kind of revelation within his soul.

"Exactly." Sam replied, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the buzzing of Edye's phone.

Scanning down the lines of the cardstock lunch menu, Jake pointed to something on the menu, "Want to share it?'

Sam looked at the dish, and nodded affably. "You aren't sure you'll like it, are you?" Sam asked.

 _No._ Jake wasn't. He knew it was a big fault of his, but he absolutely hated trying new foods. It was petty and childish, but he hated it, and no amount of self-talk could change that about him.

 _Are too._ Sam returned, "Yes, I...." 

Edye cut in waspishly, "How do you get a word in edgewise, Nate?" Jake supposed she was sad because the whole room wasn't fawning over her.

Nate paused, sucking down ice water. "You don't. They've been doing this since Jake could talk." Selene came by and dropped off bread. 

"He wasn't that delayed, Nate." Sam said, primly, "He just...didn't have much to say. I don't know why you fussed. He talked to me." Jake tried not take this personally. So what he hadn't really talked much when he was little?

He hadn't had much to say. With everyone around, it wasn't that he never spoke, it was only that his brothers never listened.

"I wuf you, 'ammy." Nate lisped. Jake bristled at that, but Jake by the gleam in Sam's eye that she had him handled. He ripped into the bread basket, trying to hide the fact that he was starving.

"Oh, Nate." Sam sighed, theatrically, "If only I weren't hopelessly in love with Quinn." There was a sudden silence around the table. The joke wasn't funny, anymore. It just wasn't. And anyway, Quinn wasn't here to throw an ice cube at Sam and gag. "I'll just have to get over it, I guess."

Jake looked at Edye, who looked so very confused. Seeing that look upon her smug face was a treat. He squeezed Sam's hand.  _Look._

Sam caught her expression and tapped back.  _Win._

Nate grinned, "You'll miss out on the favorite Ely son." He took a roll for his own bread plate, and Jake got the idea that this was one of the places they would sit forever. They should have gone to Chipotle. You never sat around in Chipotle.

"I must have been kicked in the head." Sam quipped.

Dread filled Jake. She just shouldn't say stuff like that. It hurt him, made him think of all of the moments in which she could have been gone. He was getting treatment, working through his PTSD with Dr. Ayers.

It was hard to come to terms with the diagnosis. He didn't like it, felt like he was taking the diagnosis away from people who had gotten it in much different ways. It had been like a punch in the stomach, to see that on a form Ayers had asked him to sign.The symptoms fit, Ayers had eventually told him, and the name they called it only gave him tools to work through it more effectively.

It was hard to so deeply expose himself to the darkness in his soul, to talk about and think about exposing himself to the thoughts, the memories, and the sounds that took him so quickly back to accident. It was hell to actually do it, and then find himself sitting in the same chair in Ayers' office, like he hadn't actually been where his mind had been. It drove him into rage and tears more than once, left him in a puddle.

He could say that now, because he could challenge some of the things he was thinking and feeling. Jake was slowly finding space in the world. He most often found it, now, with his ear pressed to Sam's heartbeat. He could say that now because he think more about the accident, could listen to her joke about getting kicked in the head without feeling like he was dying inside, like he was back there again, hearing her scream his name. He could even work hard to stay calm.

It wasn't as hard as it had once been. "You missed a real good chance to be quiet, Brat." Jake even as his voice lacked any real reproach. "Shouldn't joke about it."

Sam squeezed his hand, and he found the touch grounding and hopeful. There was an apology in the simple action. Just then the waitress came to take their orders. Selene looked at Jake and asked "What would she like?"

Jake replied, "How should I know?" The idea that she couldn't order her own food, that Sam was incapable made him realize how stupid people were. Every time that happened, he said the same thing, "Ask her." He needed to make a point with these people, who saw nothing but what they wanted to see, had been socially conditioned to see.

Sam's bloodless face colored, and she placed her part of their order as the waitress stammered an apology. The girl meant no harm, Sam told them once she walked away.

Nate muttered something soothing that told Jake he knew Sam's feelings were hurt, though she was trying not to show it. She thought she stuck out, that she had to make people at ease. Their discomfort was on them, Jake knew, and not on Sam.

_When my world gets crazy and I just can't cope_

_She throws her arms around me and gives me hope_

_When I got the desire but I got no plans_

_I need someone to understand, oh, only she can_

_She Can_ , Alabama

"Sammy," Nate began, after their orders were taken, "Mom misses you." Sam did miss Max, and she was glad to have been right about Nate's secondary mission.

She fiddled with her butter pat. "Tell her I miss her, too."

Edye spluttered, "I thought your mom was dead." Sam startled. Could she say 'dead' at a louder tone of voice? People over at the next tables were looking at them. She continued on in a loud voice, "Wait. Jake is your brother? You're..."

Once again, Sam repeated herself for clarity. "No. We were raised together, but..." Sam trailed off, not wanting to explain her family to this woman, who probably wanted to twist their story for her own gain. 

Was everyone in the universe obsessed with their lack of a sex life? Like, really, honestly, and truly, did people have nothing more to worry about? Jake was fighting so much of his own inner struggle, she was crawling out of emotional and physical hell, and everyone around them considered their major concern to be sex? And yet, not one person had said to her that they hoped she was being safe. Why couldn't they find comfort and joy in each other? Why shouldn't they, if the world thought they were so in love? 

No, it was a constant litany of "Don't have sex!" or "I can't believe he's still with her!" like she had somehow lost every right to any kind of a relationship. So they didn't sexually desire each other, and so what she couldn't feel some normal reactions because of the beta blockers? So what? The whole situation was starting to push her buttons.

What part of friends did people not get? She had hoped by sharing some of their childhood stories that Edye would get it through her thick skull, though Sam didn't know why she even cared.

"Oh. I thought there was some kind of  _Flowers in the Attic_  thing going on." Edye chortled.

Oh, yeah. Because any relationship between them would be based on some sick definition of power and control? What a wonderful analogy.

Sam doubted that Edye had ever read those darn books, because if she had, she would know that they were about rape and pain and terror and desperation. She felt none of those things in Jake's arms, and to call him such things, to apply such an a description to them, was just about all she could take. Chris, that first time, had terrorized Cathy, forced her down on that dirty mattress in a dark attic, and hurt her, raped her, twisted her love of him into something dark and terrible.

 Sam began, "It's none..." she inhaled, rephrasing herself, "not your concern."

Jake put his hand on her knee, under the table. Her heart slowed at the contact

. Edye looked angry. Sam didn't know if she was, she just didn't want her to be. Edye was pretty brash, and uncaring. Sam knew it wasn't logical, but she felt constantly chastened by Edye, as though everything she said and did was wrong.

There was a litany of suggestions and barbs. Sam had nearly broken down in front of the girl when she'd wanted to straighten her hair. She didn't have much of it, as it was in choppy layers, but the curls were weighted down only by the chin level length, but at least her curls were coming back. Edye tried to insist another time that she was a good weight, and didn't need to drink the ensure, even though she'd gone from almost 150 pounds to much less, in the span of her injury. Some people gained weight from TBIs, but she wasn't so lucky. Sam hated her body, missed her boobs, and her hips. She'd always been sort of pear shaped, and now she was one emaciated pear.

There were just little things. She always felt shy, and stupid, and ugly around Edye, even though she knew she was just introverted and mature. It bore no consideration.

The plates were dropped off, and the plate she and Jake were sharing was huge. She felt ungainly and awful, now. Edye's words had hurt her in ways that she could only now really consider. Why was he with her? She saw that in people's faces, she knew that people assumed things. Sam thought about things she had heard people say.  _How nice, he stayed with her out of duty, obligation. Well, he must pity her. She must be pretty pliant. He must like to have someone grateful to come home to, who wouldn't ask questions._ _He must not want to worry about babies. He must be so lonely. Look at what a decent person he is._

Jake seemed to understand better why she wanted to go home, but that didn't take away from the confusion she saw in his face. Sam realized that she was staring at her plate "Brat." Jake's soft tone shook her from her thoughts, "You going to eat?"

There was a raised eyebrow from Edye.

Sam inwardly cringed. The quiche in front of them looked good, mushrooms, eggs, and of course, piles of cheese. It was huge, too, the size of a giant plate. "Yeah." She steeled her spine. She'd eat what she wanted to eat. She needed to eat. The nutritionist told her to eat, but Edye made her feel like she was somehow fat and ugly. No. She didn't have to accept those thoughts. She knew better. She'd worked hard to believe otherwise.

Nate grinned, "Thinking about the ice cream Jake promised you?" There was no ice cream, but it was sweet of Nate to try and lighten the mood. Sam stuck her fork in a mushroom.

Edye smiled at Nate's comment, "Oh, she won't have room."

Ignoring the Claw, Jake took her hand, and Nate reached for the other one. Sam made the mistake of extending her wrist out, and after the soft prayer, Nate looked down and nearly dropped her hand into the butter and spilling the water. "What the fuck?"

Sam hissed, "Nate!" They were in a decent place, not some barnyard that he could scream curse words. Even in a barnyard, Max or Gram would wash his mouth out. People were looking again, and after that "dead mother" comment, Sam didn't blame them.

"Don't 'Nate" me, Sammy." He said, looking at her with wide eyes over his panini,"You...got inked! What is it?" Sam looked at Nate. Hadn't he seen the bear?

"Guess." Sam said, realizing that no, he had not seen the whole design.

Jake tensed slightly next to her as Nate's gaze turned assessing. Jake was obviously very curious. Edye looked mildly interested, though affronted, like she had some right to be offended because she had never seen the tattoo.

"Come on, Sammy!" Nate pleaded. "I want to see!" Sam thought about letting him see it, thought about letting him in, but decided against it. So much of her body was on display. This one part she could keep to herself, and so she wanted that feeling to linger.

Sam just smiled, and Nate didn't push the issue when she picked up her fork and bit into the mushroom.

_She'll lead you down a path_

_There'll be tenderness in the air_

_She'll let you come just far enough_

_So you know she's really there_

_Then she'll look at you and smile..._

_Secret Garden,_  Bruce Springsteen

Jake wanted to lock Edye out on the porch. With her around, There was never any quiet, and they never seemed to have those tiny pockets of privacy they always had stolen. Back home, they'd often be found off in a corner, talking or sitting in each other's presence, even after they'd spent hours on the range, with only the noise of nature as their soundtrack.

Sam had this look he'd long ago dubbed her happy look. It wasn't a grin, or anything, but rather an expression of calm peace. Her snapping green eyes would glow, and it seemed her whole body would sigh, and she'd look to him with a soft expression. It usually lasted about eight seconds, and it haunted his every dream.

Those eight seconds were never to be found while Edye was around. It had happened, once, at lunch. Sam had looked to Jake as he'd said something funny, and they had been normal again.

That is, until Sam saw Edye and her expression froze, and the partition in her eyes came down when he'd asked her if she was going to eat.

After that, Sam had curled into Jake, as though he was a wall, and she a child in a rainstorm.

He hadn't seen that look on her face in so long, and he had never seen it torn away like that before. That small gesture had told him a million things. He kept puzzling over it.

Later that night, when the house was dark, Jake whispered, "I screwed up." Sam was on top of him, as they splayed out on the big couch. The sensory perception issues she had were a nice reason to hold her, when they weren't causing her pain and discomfort. 

Sam muted the TV. For one of his classes, Jake had to watch films relating to the subject, and write papers. It was insane, but made marginally better by the fact that Sam shared the experience with him, pressed her ear to his heart and ran her soft hands over his body, holding him close to her. It was soothing, comforting, pleasant, like being rocked on a boat and held still by her embrace.

 Instead of assuming she knew why, Sam asked, "How did you screw up?"

"All day...I've been thinking about us going home. I kept thinking about your list, and I realized that the things I was making bigger don't matter so much." Jake allowed, trying to explain how he had been so focus on one thing that he had missed the big picture. He couldn't tell her about how he could read her eyes. There was on way that she would believe that he had changed his mind because his heart said to, and not his mind.

His mind was vehemently opposed to this, "We can talk about going. I...don't think we should stay."

"I thought we had already agreed." Sam said, softly. Jake ran his fingers through her wild hair, again. The lamplight made her hair shine, and Jake tried to catch the bits of purple in it before they faded. That happy look was the priority, and if being at home gave her that, then they would make all the changes they needed to make. The most valuable things were not things at all, and they were things that could never be put on some list.

Sometimes, the thing that was most wrong made the most sense, and this was like that. The right thing to do, staying here, suddenly didn't make any sense at all, not when giving up that kind of joy was somehow factored into the equation.

"I knew it was right, but I didn't know why. Now I do. We belong there." Nate had helped him to see what really mattered in life. They could make this work, somehow. He just knew it.

_I got me a fearless heart_

_Strong enough to get you through the scary part_

_It's been broken many times before_

_A fearless heart just comes back for more_

_I can't promise this'll work out right  
But it would kill me darlin' if we didn't even try_

_Fearless Heart,_  Steve Earle


	17. How it's Going to Be

_When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose_

_You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal._

_How does it feel?_

_How does it feel..._

_To be on your own?_

_With no direction home..._

_Like a complete unknown..._

_Like a rolling stone?_

_Like a Rolling Stone,_  Bob Dylan

Ella peered at her intently. "Do you think you're ready?"

Sam tried not to focus on the doubt that welled up inside of her. She looked down quickly at the laces of her sneakers. They were the elastic kind that she'd gotten out of a PT catalog. You laced up once, and they stayed tied forever.

Sam thought they felt sticky and slippery, like those odd koosh balls they threw at her in OT, trying to desensitize her with sensory bins. She hated koosh balls with every bit of passion inside of her. They were wiggly, evil, horrible, little things, whose rubbery, wiggly, endings lingered on her nerve endings long after she touched the balls.

The idea of never tying your shoes was freaky in the extreme. These shoes would never come undone, and they slid off fairly easily. She hated them, loathed them. Still, she put on her own shoes now. It was a victory, albeit one in a way that she had never expected.

"Ella, I have no idea." Sam was honest, "But..I want it. I haven't wanted anything in months." Ella knew better than anyone how untrue, or true, the statement was. "But I want this. I want to go home."

"You'd be giving up a lot if you left." Ella pointed out, conversationally. She wasn't trying to be confrontational. She wanted, Sam knew, for Sam to see things that Ella she thought she wasn't considering. Ella, in some way, had become a voice in her head, posing questions and urging her forward. Ella's positivity and her ways of thinking had been imparted upon Sam in such a way that the learned behaviors were a part of her mental processes.

"Yes." Sam said, simply. She would be giving up so much to leave here. She had grown used, in some senses, to being here, used to the routine, the life, the systems that governed their days. She knew what life here was like. She knew the monsters she faced here, knew how to handle everything that came up.

Ella elaborated, "Your independence, your relative freedom. You've said your aunt is lax, and that your father is totalitarian, by comparison. How do you think you will cope with not being in charge anymore, being under his roof again?" Ella smiled, "Here, you make the rules, there, well, it is your father's house."

Sam faltered. She had no idea. She had no clue how she was to go back to being a child in her father's home, after months of handling her own affairs. Sue was no help whatsoever, not that Sam needed that kind of help.She admitted to wanting it sometimes, but she did not need it.

Her aunt cared, but she was so different from Sam that things like paperwork and choices didn't enter into her mind the same way. Sue lived a very zen life, wherein she asserted that all would be well, no matter what, so why borrow trouble? Sam tried to explain, "I don't feel like I have a life here. I don't have the life I want." She did not want this life, in this place.

She wanted her life. She wanted to be the person she saw peeking through the pain and the hurt sometimes, the girl who never left the house without duct tape and bailing twine, the girl who had broken nails and a big smile because she'd earned those nails, not on rubber wheels, but on leather reins. The wheel-burn on her hand screamed in protest as she flexed her hand quickly, almost feeling the ghost of the reins in her hands, the faint traces of the calluses that came with them. She missed those calluses.

"What makes you think you'll have the life you want, there?" Ella probed, "The world you left clearly isn't the one you're going back to. You're not going to get your pre-accident life back, Sam. You know this."

Sam knew the doctor wasn't trying to hurt her, but the words stung all the same. She knew that they were true. They were true, but they hurt. The world was different in so many horrible, awful, no-good ways. There were some good changes, too. She could now handle her own life without even a bit of support from Dad.

She no longer found herself wanting to call him to ask what she should do about this or that. She had done it on her own to know what to do, how to do it, and to know that she would be okay.

"You've said it a thousand times." Sam cut Ella off, "I just don't want to feel forgotten and replaced anymore!" The words came from nowhere. She was on her own, muddling through the world somehow, because her father had forgotten her. He had forgotten her to the point that he had replaced her mother, and then had replaced her in the barn with some punk.

Ella's face was sympathy personified, "Sam, those feelings aren't going to go away even if you're home again, not until you work through them." The subtext was clear. Ella would be there to help her do that. Sam was glad for the scrap of nonjudgmental support. She knew that was Ella was right, but how could she work through feelings that were wrapped up in being home, if she was here?

"Ella, you just don't get what it's like." Sam sighed, forlornly. Her therapist never could. Sam had tried to explain countless times, but Ella made her go over and over this point, like she was putting backstitches in on the end of a seam.

"No, I don't." Ella agreed, "So, why don't you tell me, then." The doctor made the offer openly, as though she were genuinely interested. Sam knew that Ella cared professionally, but a professional caring was very different from a personal caring. There was no bias in Ella's care. There couldn't be, if she was to do her job, but Sam wished she could find some biased emotion somewhere. Still, no matter how much she wanted to answer Ella, she couldn't.

Sam didn't want to share what her home meant to her, again, for what felt like the billionth time. She didn't want to rip that portion of her soul open, not when she was trying to be logical.

She didn't need to talk about Ace and Kitty for an hour, sobbing as she recounted every moment of their lives with her, sobbing as she confessed that she deserved to die, because she had done the worst thing a person could do, and abandoned the animals she had sworn to love.

Those days were hard to remember, hard to feel in her mind's eye. She had worked through so much, but Sam knew that she was on edge. Now wasn't the time. She didn't want to go through that again.

Already she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Roughly, she blinked, and said, "I don't need to go there, now. I just want to go home and life my life again."

"What is your life?" Ella asked, softly. Sam blinked a few more times. She didn't want to think about Kitty, or the fact that because of how she had failed that horse, that she had no life anymore.

Ella clearly noticed her discomfort, but she didn't pass the tissues or acknowledge the few tears Sam wiped on her sleeve in any way. Sam was so glad she had let her keep some of her pride, as she asked, "Why don't you tell me about a day you had, before the accident. Any day you want. Walk me through it."

"I get up in the morning, and I go to the barn." Sam finally felt the few prickles subside, and she inhaled deeply. Sam cleared her throat, almost able to smell the wood and the straw and the horses.

"Sam, you need to be specific here." Ella asserted, uncrossing her legs, "When do you get up?"

Sam tried to stop the video in her brain, the cell memories, the ones that were embedded in her muscles and her soul to the point that she could see the barn around her, and not Ella's wall of windows.

She steadied her voice, "I used to get up sometime between six and six-fifteen, and go to the barn until Gram called me in for breakfast, and then school." Sam pushed away the memories of racing off out of her car to race towards the barn, though she felt the rush of her blood, the small thrill she got just remembering what it was like.

"I got out of school around 3:00. If I didn't have a newspaper meeting, I would go with the horses for a while. Then we had dinner, Dad, Gram, and me, and then I did my homework and went to bed." There had been a timeless wonder to her life. They days pushed and pulled, passing slowly as they came, and far too quickly in retrospect.

Life had been boring, normal. She wanted that boring.This boring, here in San Francisco, was just not her version of boring.

Sam would sell her soul to the very devil to have one second of it back, one second of a life where she felt as she had then. She would do anything, anything, to be there, again, sit atop her horses and know how lucky, how so very lucky, she had been. In those days, though, she had taken it all for granted, every bit of a world that so many people would do anything to inhabit, had been nothing but average to her. She knew that, and she knew how foolish and shortsighted she'd been.

She also knew that one day, maybe, she could have that life back. She could feel as she had felt, and live as she had always lived, and then, she would be herself again. She wanted to be Sam again, and who was Sam, if not somebody who loved her horses and her ranch?

"Okay." Ella accepted her story. It had been bare, factual. Sam hadn't told her the important things, the scents, the sounds, the feelings of knowing that Pepper and Dallas were talking in low tones a few feet away, that Jen was just a bit away, and that the sun was bright, the day wide before her.

It was not a feeling she could easily explain now that it was gone. It was an emotion that felt just beyond her reach, somehow, like she could see it but her brain could not explain it in words. Still, wrapping herself in those memories allowed part of her to soar. "Do you think your days would be different now?"

She crashed.

There would be no more running from the car she'd driven home from school to the barn, because she couldn't run well, and she was not cleared to drive. Sam tried, "Maybe, yeah. I mean, I'll have to make time for PT, and..." Sam trailed off. She understood that she would have to make allowances in the schedule for these things. She couldn't change facts.

"Well, can you think of anything new or different in your life?" Ella said, pushing softly, trying very obviously to carry on with this conversation. Sam did not want to move forward. She wanted to stay in her memories.

"No." Sam snapped. She couldn't help it, now that she knew where Ella was going. The very thought of it made her snap when it caught her unawares. When she worked up to it, she could smile, she could pretend not to be dying inside, and she could be just as blasé as Sue could be when she realized that she had messed up writing a check for the mortgage and had to call the company. Sam had never sat through such an agonizing moment in her life, but Sue acted as though she occasionally forgot and it was no big deal. The bank understood.

Ella leaned forward a tiny bit, "What about Brynna?" She was trying, clearly to convey a closer sense of support and interest. It fell flat like a balloon that had been popped. Sam did not buy into the discussion.

"What about her?" Sam asked, not quite as crossly as she might have had weeks ago.

She was, Sam had discerned, not a long term issue. Dad had often done stupid things, like trying a new sock brand, only to grumble and moan days after saying the new brand was wonderful. Suddenly, Sam would notice as she folded laundry that his old brand was back, and nothing more was said about the new brand of socks.

Ella replied, "She may factor into your daily life."

"No." Sam replied, regretting even having mentioned the entire thing to Ella. Ella clearly thought that it was a bigger issue to Sam than it really and honestly was. "I've decided she's just a fling. Why should I change my life for someone who isn't going to be around in a few months?"

Ella grinned. "You sound mighty sure of yourself, there." That patronizing, annoying, tone was there, one that every adult got when they spoke to someone they saw as acting like a self-assured child. Sam ignored it. She knew that Ella could not really help her biases. Ella, for all that she tried to relate, was a middle-aged woman with a plethora of children.

"I forgot that I know my father." Sam voiced a conclusion that Sue unwittingly had helped her to come to in the dressing room. She knew every last one of his habits, his faults, and she knew how he reacted to things. "He's made a mistake, but he'll get tired of catering to her and running around."

Dad had always liked to hang around with her when he wasn't working, "Then things will go back to normal."

"Hm." Ella said, noncommittally. She didn't make the sound correctly. When Jake did it, Sam could hear a whole wealth of words in the simple sound. Ella just mumbled incomprehensibly.

"I hate that." Sam replied, calmly and factually, finally able to admit that she hated something without the actual emotion entering into her voice, or coloring her assessment. "Say what you want to say."

Ella smiled softly, "Where do you see Jake playing into this?"

Sometimes, Sam wondered if Ella asked questions to make Sam explore things or to assuage her never ending sense of curiosity, perverse as it could often become, "He'll be there, Ella, you know that. I would never jeopardize our friendship. It's why..." Sam broke off, "Look, we talked about it. He's cool. Ask him yourself."

The sun slanted into her eyes, forcing her to throw up a hand to shied her eyes quickly. She lost every sense of equilibrium she had. Her sensory integration issues were leveling off, but that did not mean they were getting better. She just knew how to handle it, how to factor it into her daily living to the point that she only noticed when it got really bad.

"Right now, I'm talking to you." Ella dismissed the idea, "Why don't you try and give me a detailed story of what you suppose an average day might look like?" She stood and pulled the shade lower, minimizing the glare in the bright room.

Sometimes, Ella noticed and acted without Sam asking. Other times, she forced Sam to advocate for herself, either by asking or lowering the blinds or the lights on her own, even when she could not see well. Sam understood the lesson of relying on herself in the physical, as well as the emotional, arena.

Sam's relief was palpable as her body relaxed in the darker room. Sam felt better and could see, once the spots left her eyes. "Well." Sam thought for a second, "I would probably go out and work with the horses, some, after I got up, and then go to school. After school, I guess I'd have to go to PT and OT, but once I got home, I'd probably do something about dinner, homework, and then bed."

Sam had no idea, really, but she could not very well admit that fact. Her days had flowed, and given time, they would again. After all, it was starting to become second nature here in San Francisco. She would figure it out.

"How far from your house is the nearest PT clinic? How will you get to school now that you can't drive for now?" Ella fired questions at her softly, "What about getting to..."

"Just stop!" Sam insisted, cutting Ella off hotly,"Just stop! You must have some point." There was no way that she could be expected to know these details. What did the drive matter? What did any of it matter?

Ella shook her head, and stated factually. "You are not ready to go home, Sam."

"Is that you professional opinion, Doctor, or should I say, Warden?' Sam asked cooly. The gall of Ella! How dare she pull Sam into this conversation just to say no? Sam saw her file on Ella's desk, tucked out of the way, so that Ella had it if she needed it, but far enough away that Sam was supposed to think that Ella did not need it. She knew that Ella was part of the team that would complete an evaluation for a home transition.

"Let me finish." Ella said softly, somehow using her voice to calmly order Sam to pay careful attention to her words,"You are not ready to go home because you do not have enough information to make an informed decision." Ella paused for a moment, letting her words float around them. "You were prepared to make this decision blindly." Ella paused for but a beat, "Why?"

The wooden table next to Sam had a chip in the wood, just underneath the edge. She wondered if it had ever been kicked over, or if someone had chipped the table just so that someone would remember that they had been here, that they had tried in vain to come up with answers to questions that weren't even being asked. Sam was silent. Ella pressed her, "Does it have something to do with Brynna?"

"This is my safe space. Stop bringing her up." Sam returned, baldly, "I could not care less for that woman."

Ella did not give in to Sam's forceful tone. "And yet, here you are, ready to go off half-cocked just to stop her from, ah, 'digging her evil gold-digging claws into my family.'"

Ella, of course, was able to quote her when she said things she had said ages ago, but was she able to quote her when it came to things that mattered? Sam had yet to see evidence of it. "I was furious when I said that. I've grown and gotten some perspective." Sam was glad that she had worked out her stuff in this office to be able to say this and know that she was right, "Give me some credit. She's not evil. Just really stupid. Stupid people can't help stupid."

"Ah." Ella said, and Sam tried not to glare mulishly. She'd said 'ah' because Sam had asked her not to say, 'Hm' and she was messing with Sam. "Has it occurred to you that your father is a big boy?" Ella asked, "And if she does sink her claws into him, it's he who must handle it?"

"You don't get it, Ella. It's not about Dad! It's about the ranch!" A deeper layer to the truth burst forth from her, before she could articulate it calmly.

Ella's eyes widened in interest. "I know you don't get it because people here think a yard the size of penny is huge, but that ranch is more than just some land."

Sam said, trying to calm down, but failing as the truth came to light. "It's my life, and I won't stand by and let him run my home into the ground." Sam prayed that Ella would understand, because she felt that in telling Ella this, she was telling herself, too, solidifying something she knew but had never really said out loud.

She knew that Dad wasn't putting his all into the ranch right now. She knew. Putting this into words felt as though so much was finally making sense, "I never signed up for this! I never wanted to be here. It's a crime to keep me trapped here."

Sam exhaled, "I decided that I make those choices, not Dad, not Sue, not even you and your damn red pen, Ella." Sam flicked a glance at the pen in question on the desk, the pen that would seal her fate.

"So, you're set on leaving." Ella mused slowly, as though she were as stupid as that woman. Ella wasn't. She was a dumb as a fox. She saw everything, "You're set on going."

"Yes." Sam enunciated carefully. Was that all that Ella had taken away from her words? Sam decided quickly that it was enough. She knew that Ella was not going to sign off on it, but at least she now knew where things stood, and what's more, so did Sam.

"Good, then." Ella said, firmly but somewhat excitedly. She nodded, and looked to Sam for a response.

"Good, then?" Sam repeated, her brain not making sense of this reaction. Ella was happy. Hadn't she just said that Sam was not ready to go home?

Ella nodded, "Goals are fantastic. I'm glad you have a goal you're passionate about. What's your first step?" She was completely off her rocker, but Sam wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Still, she had no idea where to go with this.

"The first step?" Sam asked, trying to filter through what Ella had said about goals before. Ella had said so much, it felt like there was a card catalog in her mind in the shape of Ella. She had to filter through every category to find the right card in her mind. There was so much there that Ella spoke before she could call up the words, but not the aching memories that went along with them. "Goals work because they are measurable, flexible, and have a plan to get you there." The words were enough of a reminder so that every bit of Ella's words on goal setting came back to her.

After a long, drawn out moment that felt like all of the steam had gone out of her, Sam looked to Ella, and stated simply, "I don't have a plan." It was only when Ella reached out to hand her a pen that Sam realized that her fingers had been pressed over the bear under her sleeve.

_I'm learnin' who you've been ain't who you've gotta be_

_It's gonna be an uphill climb_

_but honey I won't lie_

_I'm gettin' there_

_I can finally stand the man in the mirror I see_

_I ain't as good as I'm gonna get_

_but I'm better than I used to be_

_Better than I Used to be_ , Sammy Kershaw

Jake flipped monotonously through his schoolwork, hating the deep truths the book was rapidly illuminating. He was not the same person, anymore. This book in his hands cemented thoughts that even his soul had been terrified to voice.

He did not want to be a cop.

The words tasted sour, even in his mind, but his lungs finally felt that they could admit it and breathe deeply. He had spent years swearing that he wanted nothing more than to be a cop, nothing more than to protect and defend, but he was slowly changing his mind.

The book in his hands drove the final nail in the coffin. Jake felt free.

Ayers believed, wrongly, that he found the violent undertones of law enforcement to be triggering. That wasn't it at all. Jake was just so tired of writing papers wherein he had to assert that some arbitrary law was right because some old white guy, somewhere, had said so, without even knowing the context to which the law was being applied.

He shut the book quickly and went towards the patio across from Ella's waiting room. He pushed open the door and let the hot, humid, weather roll over his body, a clear contrast to the climate control of the indoor environment.

He hated Michel Foucault at the moment. He opened the book again and tried to read the same passages again, tried to see something new in the words, tried to understand why he was suddenly certain, in his soul, that he could not be a cop.

Why did the assertion that the law "lays down for each individual his place, his body, his disease and his death, his well-being, by means of an omnipresent and omniscient power that subdivides itself in a regular, uninterrupted way even to the ultimate determination of the individual, of what characterizes him, of what belongs to him, of what happens to him" make Jake unable to breathe, unable to see himself as something other than an oppressor?

The assertion that "the penetration of regulation into even the smallest details of everyday life through the mediation of the complete hierarchy that assured the capillary functioning of power; not masks that were put on and taken off, but the assignment to each individual of his 'true' name, his 'true' place, his 'true' body, his 'true' disease" made Jake drop the book.

He was not worthy of that power, nor was he desirous of the ability to have that kind of power over people. It did nothing to help them, because it did not acknowledge that people lived their lives in the muddy areas of gray, where the right thing was sometimes wrong, and the wrong thing was the only thing that made sense.

Jake looked up at the sky and sighed. He was who he was, but who he was changing.

Months ago, he would not have admitted to seeing the world in shades of gray, in shades outside of the binary he had always believed in, had always tried to perpetuate, for the good of the people he loved. Who was Jake Ely, if he was not a cop in the making?

He tried to close his eyes for a long moment, and began to picture himself as he had for so many years. The badge and the things it symbolized seemed powerless, now, a mockery. The cops had done nothing, had been able to do nothing, when they had been most needed.

The images in his mind did not sit well, causing his stomach to roll. He did not want to be seen in his community as someone who hurt people. He had hurt too much to ever perpetuate that cycle, as idealistic as it sounded, even to his heart.

He did not want to tell his mother. He could just see the conversation, "Mom. I don't want to be a cop. I have no idea what I'll do, but I can't do that." She would just think he was more insane than he realized he actually was. She, after all, had locked up every gun he owned for weeks, taking away the one chore he thought a lot about doing, then. No, he couldn't tell Mom, not until he had his things figured out.

The way he saw it, his classes were set for the semester. He could do nothing about them, not that he would if he could. Despite the growing awareness that he would never make a good cop, he wanted to keep on going with the major. He didn't want to be a county deputy, but he had not made his mind up about the internship. The idea of working in a prison setting made him want to throw up. He felt imprisoned in this city, he could not perpetuate that on another being in his entire life. It would be nothing short of a crime.

Ayers said he would grow and change because of the therapeutic process, and it appeared that he had. He had. It was bad. It was good. It was what it was. There was no going back now. 

Jake sank down on a metal bench. He had no choice. He had made his choices in life, and he would stand by them. He had not expected to wake up this morning, thinking about how warm Sam was, and how much he did not want to get out of bed and write the essay. He did not want to become a cog in the status quo. Slowly, he was coming to feel that he saw things so differently from everyone else, and that he would never fit and be happy.

He did not want to sell his soul to the government, somehow, and end up as a man with no compassion, no ability to act in the deeply gray area that was mercy when his profession was governed by stark areas of black and white.

He had thought for ages about this. Ayers had asked him to give the CBT a chance before he went and changed his mind. Jake had given it seven weeks, now. These sessions helped him to make progress quickly, but he still had not changed his mind, or resurrected his dreams of being a cop.

He had realized as he'd read the  _Panopticon_  that he could not help people to internalize a system of belief and behavior, a system of authority, that he himself could not buy into. He believed in being under the law. He wasn't an anarchist, but Jake also knew that those who made poor choices were often only making the only choice they had. Just look at him, at the things he had thought, if not done.

Jake shook his head, and tried to rationalize the thoughts that were spinning in his mind. He could make a good cop. He could learn, could try. Ballard was a good man, who cared for people, and so were the men and women who worked for him. They protected people.

But they had never had their worlds ripped apart, only to not find mercy anywhere. The law would not provide solace or mercy for a broken and bleeding world. Jake could no longer visualize graduating from the academy with anything close to excitement or joy. His soul was saying no, but his mind had not offered up any alternatives.

Jake looked at his watch, and watched as the seconds ticked away. He had no answers, but he empathized in a new way with Sam, on her journey to go home. She knew that going home was right, even though they did not know what they would find when they got there. He understood, and he was right there with her.

They had nowhere to go but forward. They could not go back to who they had been, it would impossible to shake or shed the growing they had done in the past few weeks. Sam was sitting in there, now, with Ella. Jake had a fairly good idea what they were talking about, and he hoped it was going well for all their sakes. Looking up at the slice of sky for another few seconds, Jake rose and entered the building, the cool air hitting him like a shot of coffee on a cold winter morning.

_You know a dream is like a river, ever changin' as it flows_

_And a dreamer's just a vessel that must follow where it goes_

_Trying to learn from what's behind you and never knowing what's in store_

_Makes each day a constant battle just to stay between the shores_

_And I will sail my vessel 'til the river runs dry_

_Like a bird upon the wind, these waters are my sky_

_The River_ , Garth Brooks

Sam was now the proud of owner of a plan. She had a plan. She had a plan, she had a goal, she had a plan and a goal to make happen. She had a way to make this happen. She could do this. The words repeated and melded in her brain in a jumbled rush until even her very thoughts did not make sense.

She almost knocked into Jake with the wheelchair as she sped towards him in the waiting room. His foot stopped the rolling chair quickly, no matter the fact that Sam had tried to stop it in vain. "Sorry!"

He did not even blink. "What?"

How had her running into him not hurt? Sam looked down at the small front wheel and his foot, hoping she'd not broken it. Oh. He hadn't noticed it because, for once, she had caught him completely lost in his thoughts. Had she hurt him? "Are you..." She stopped talking when he merely raised an eyebrow.

If he couldn't stand up, they'd deal with that then. Better not give him reason to blame her, if she could get away with it. "I have a plan to get us home."

Quickly, she pulled the notebook out of her bag and shoved it at Jake, with the enthusiasm of a child begging for a favorite book to be read, "What do you think?" She knew that all she had was the basic framework, where they were now, and where they wanted to be. The two lines took up an entire page, because the starting point was in the top left corner of the sheet and their goal was in the bottom corner of the right.

She had one step already written down, right under the top left corner, indented a tiny bit. It read, in small letters, "Information" and listed a bunch of questions she needed to think about. Sam watched as Jake stared at the sheet. She tried to explain, "I know we don't have much, but I was thinking that we needed to hash it out together, and..."

Jake looked up, and smiled. Sam felt as though her entire world was encapsulated in the crinkles of his smile. Her stomach flipped, and tightened. "This is great." Sam knew that Jake was right. They had no idea where they were going, their page was blank, but they were going to fill it in together.

_They drank up the wine and they got to talking_

_They now had more important things to say_

_And when the car broke down they started walking_

_Where were they going without ever knowing the way?_

_They won't make it home but they really don't care_

_They just drove off and left it all behind 'em_

_But where were they going without ever knowing the way?_

_The Way,_  Fastball

"Yo, dude!" Darrell said into the phone, a few days after the plan had been hatched. Sam heard his voice carry the distance over the small table, "Just want to let you know that the house is doing fine. Quinn's been a real buddy on this one." Sam looked across at Jake, who paid attention to Darrell's explanation of some issue with scorpions in the new house.

Jake looked at her apologetically, and gestured to the door.

Sam busied herself with her tea as Jake turned into the conversation with Darrell. He made his way outside to the corner, and Sam wondered if he knew how much he could be mistaken for any other person on the street.

She was content to sit in silence for a time, as the cafe buzzed around them. It was slow enough that she could hear the clunk of dishes and the thunk of the expresso machine when an occasional cup was ordered. Sam marveled at the sheet before her, and realized something new about herself. To a less overt degree than her aunt, she was not a planner.

It seemed so strange to write out every little thing she was going to do to get them home, and even stranger still to go down the list, asking questions to Dr. Francis and making phone calls. It felt strange.

All her life, things had just kind of fallen into place. Sometimes, she had worried and stressed over issues, but it always seemed in retrospect that the best and worst and most meaningful things had always just happened. The run-ins she'd had with Linc Slocum over various issues were some examples of that. The work that she had done recently had proven to contrast that experience quite strongly, though Sam did not know what that meant.

Sam looked over her list, and the scribbled notes she had taken in the last few days. Things were shaping up, and this might just work. The logistics were not going to be as easy as she had thought, but they were possible. Her tea grew tepid as she thought and wrote and organized her notes. Jake, she noticed when she looked up from time to time, was busy on the phone.

Thusly, when Sam came to the conclusion that her list was complete enough to talk to Sue but for one item, she was all alone. She could go home, were it not for the last piece of information, were it not for one last phone call. There was no way forward unless she spoke to her father. She did not want to bring this up with Sue until she had information, and sadly, Dad had all of the power. He alone would say if she was welcome in his house again.

Ella was right. River Bend's house was his, not hers, and she had no real right to be there, inasmuch as her soul cried out that she had every right to be there, every right to consider that place her home. It had been hers since the day she was born, though slowly, she was realizing that it was not hers.

Sue did exactly as she pleased in her house because it was hers, and she was secure in the knowledge that nothing or no one would ever contest her right to do as she wished. Sam did not have that right, no matter where she went.

Her presence anywhere was totally and completely conditional. Sue cared to a lesser extent than Dad ever had about what she did, though to be honest, Sam knew that was a lie.

Dad didn't care one bit about what she did or how things were going. He just did not care, and the sooner Sam came to terms with that fact, the sooner she would be better off. Yes, she was more self-reliant, now, but it was the kind that was borne of having no other choice but to count on herself. It was not a self-reliance she felt good about.

Sometimes, she wanted to call her father so much that she picked up the phone a bunch of times just to try and force him to love and care about her. She was angry, she was furious, but she was also furious that he did not care how hurt she was.

He did not care, and so Sam tried to make herself not care. It had become second nature.

But she would have to care enough, and so would he, if they were to somehow live under the same roof again. Given that he did not care, what did it matter if she were there or not? Then again, his indifference might mean that he would say no. Who wanted someone in their homes that they did not care about?

Her father, for so many years, had been everything to her. Other people had two parents, and she had one that she loved with everything she was. He was stubborn, awful, and autocratic, but Sam would be lying if she didn't admit to knowing just how much that stubbornness was matched by a deep care for her. He had done so many of the maternal things in her life, even with Gram around.

He'd always said that Mom would have wanted him to be the one to be there, when she could not be. He'd always asserted that she was the woman in his life, his very best girl, even when she was wheedling to get her own way with something.

How many times could someone tell you that you were their world, that they loved you, until you believed it? He had raised her, been her father, and Sam had felt very lucky growing up to have a father that wanted her.

She loved her father.

She could not change the fact that losing their relationship, losing every meaning that had come with it, hurt in a way that not even Jake understood. Dad always asked, "Where would I be without you, Tumbleweed?" Sam had never cared to know.

Dad had always he said he never had to find out. He'd joked that if she felt in necessary to do such a silly thing as get married, why, they could simply stay at River Bend. Sam had understood the joke in his words, but she had also understood the deeper truths behind them.

Well, now they knew what they had never expected, in a way that she had never anticipated. She was gone, and he was with that woman, with somebody who wasn't Mama, living a full life without her. He didn't need her, didn't even want her there, didn't even care.

She was a tumbleweed, Dad said, because she rattled around the ranch just like one, all elbows and knees flying as she'd run. She did not understand why her father no longer cared, no longer loved her. She wrestled with that fact.

She was still her, in the most basic senses. She was conflicted if it was because of the accident, because she had gotten so badly hurt in something that should have gone off without a hitch or if he no longer cared because he no longer needed her help. Ella made her visualize alternate outcomes to that day, even though she had no recollection of it.

In some alternate universe, she probably would have come to stay with Sue for a year or two, and been completely fine, able to pass in the real world as fine, no matter what was really wrong. She probably would have gone home, and back to some approximation of a friendship with Jake, even as they had been driven apart by time and space. In some alternate universe, he never would have shown up here, no matter how hurt he was.

But _no_.   _No._ He was here. With her. 

That wasn't reality, and this was and it was time for her to let go of her wishes for a relationship with her father that wasn't based in facts. Her reality was grounded in the fact that she had gotten hurt. She had gotten hurt, and not just by the accident. She could never go back home, now, and pretend that everything was just the same.

Her world had been built on the surety of her father's care, and it wasn't anymore. She wasn't even sure if he would let her inside. This was life, and she had to cope with it. The part of her heart that she hated, the bit that spoke above rationalizations and all of her hard work over the last few weeks whispered that it was because of that woman that Dad didn't care.

It wasn't totally the woman's fault. It was just that, Sam knew, that if she hadn't been around, Dad would have needed her just a little. Sam was no longer loved, wanted, or even needed. It was the needing that hurt the most. Dad had needed her on the ranch, had raised her to understand that it would be her responsibility one day, and had raised her to understand her responsibilities to the land from day one, understand that she was going to be the next generation to keep River Bend going and that she had to understand that, and help as she grew up, because he'd needed her to, even more than he wanted her to do it, to take pride in their home. Now, he had someone else to share the land with, share River Bend with, even right down to riding her horses.

_I held on longer then I should_

_Believing you might change your mind_

_And those bright lights of Hollywood would fade in time._

_But your wheels just turn down the road ahead_

_If it hurts at all you ain' t showed it yet_

_I keep a lookin' for the slightest sign that you might miss what you left behind_

_I know there's nothing stopping you now, but I'd settle for a slowdown._

_Settle for a Slowdown,_ Dierks Bentley

A work van zoomed by, and Jake resisted the urge to curse. Darrell needed his hand to be held throughout this and Jake felt the tension of not being able to do his part. Jake had a headache, and just wanted to get going. He looked down at his sneakers and tried to walk Darrell through an issue.

"Look, just-" The fact that he had been on the phone for at least twenty minutes hadn't made explanations any easier.

The words died on Jake's lips. In the throng of traffic, he was certain that he saw Wyatt's truck. He had not seen that truck since the day... His surroundings felt fuzzy. Jake knew what he had to do as his stomach started to roll.

Looking up wildly, he found what he was looking for. The sky was blue. Blue.

Quickly, he looked down, desperate for facts. Facts. He needed facts. Observations.

The sidewalk was tan, concrete, and there was a crack right in front of him.

A loud sound drew his eyes as he sought out something to hold him to the present.

A blue toyota went whirring by. It had a bad muffler.

The woman waiting for the bus was tapping her toes.

The man hustling a toddler along was whistling a merry tune as their child giggled.

He found that the grounding tool was working, and slowly, Jake realized that the truck was just a truck. Many people had the same one.

Great, now Ayers would be asserting that he had more to work through. He closed his eyes, but opened them quickly, reminding himself to breathe. He'd never seen random flashes on the streets before right now. Sometimes, he had flashbacks when he had just had a particularly hard sessions with Ayers, but he was feeling okay today.

He was doing okay, no matter how he felt in this moment.

The bad moments were fleeting.

He knew what to do, as his pulse raced. He was so ashamed that he was seeing bits of home out here. It was something Ayers had warned against, and now it was happening, on a crowded city street, with his friend yammering in his ears. He had to know what to do, in practice, now that the time for talking theory was past.

"Jake!" Darrell broke in, "Look, man-" Jake could not hear him. He had worked so hard, only to be seeing flashes of home in places that they were clearly not. Darrell went on and on about wiring fans. It was not hard to pick a fan and install it, but Darrell was insistent that the fan speak to the family that would be buying the house, even though they had no idea who that was.

"Darrell..." Jake replied, after cutting his friend off.

The same truck circled the block again, and Jake stopped talking.

_Aardvark. Armadillo._

_Antelope._

_Appaloosa. Ant._

_Anaconda._

_Arctic Fox. Alligator._

He was about to start thinking of animals that started with the letter "B" when Darrell spoke.

"So you think the nickel finish is good?" Darrell desperately wanted assurance. Jake could hear it in his normally jovial voice. He inhaled, twice. The bus pulled away from the kerb a bit down the block with a loud lurch.

A truck was just a truck. It didn't mean anything, and the fact that his insides were twisted up was something he'd have to work through with Ayers later. He could hold his own.

Jake's eyes kept busy, scanning the area. "I trust you, Darrell." Jake was listening to Darrell speak, when he felt the bottom fall out as a harried whoosh of air left his lungs.

His eyes had just seen the last thing he'd ever expected to see on the streets of San Fran.

_Well, hello there_   
_My, it's been a long, long time_   
_And, how am I doin'?_   
_Oh I guess that I'm doin' fine_

_Well, it's been been so long now_   
_But it seems now, that it was only yesterday_   
_Gee, ain't it funny how time just slips away?_

_Funny How Time Slips Away_ , Willie Nelson

Sam looked up as the bell over the door rang out a merry blending of notes. She looked up, expecting to see Jake, with a bemused smile on his face. What she saw, instead, shook her to her core.

Sam's tepid tea tasted like battery acid, acrid and horrible, as she forced herself to swallow the sip she'd just taken. Her eyes fell to her notebook, as she slammed it shut quickly. In her haste, she knocked the pen off of the table.

The purple pen rolled to stop at a pair of dustworn boots. A callused hand reached down and picked it up, "Here, Tumbleweed."

Sam couldn't breathe. Sam wanted to reach out and take it, but she couldn't. Every muscle in her body had tensed and frozen in place. She could not have moved if her whole life depended on the action.

Jake was right there, she saw, though how she had previously missed him next to her father was beyond her. Their eyes locked together. 

With every ounce of guts she possessed, she asked, "How's Darrell?"

Jake understood, a sympathetic look in his eyes was evident as he stood there, next to her father. "Fine. He wants to know what you think of a sea-foam tile."

"Subway?" Sam asked, screaming inside. The design painted a picture in her head, one she desperately needed to hold onto in the midst of this mess.

"Yup." Jake nodded. The moment stretched on forever, every pretense of ease gone, even as they were standing there talking about bathroom tile. How awful this was, how surreal and awful. Her father was standing there, and one look at Jake told Sam that he had not known to expect the man otherwise.

"I hear that house of yours is coming alone nicely." Dad interjected. She looked at him, ached to scream and cry and just hug him, but she didn't move. He was looking at the chair. Sam decided that if he wanted to stare, she'd give him something to look at.

"It'll be better with a finished bathroom." Sam returned, wrestling with her anger and her pain. She needed to keep control. 

She looked at the clock flashing on the window across the street, and said, "We're going to be late."

She never once looked at her father as she packed up the bag, and extended it to Jake. He slung it over his shoulder, and followed her as she pulled away from the table. Sam looked over her shoulder, and saw her father standing there, a look she had never seen on his face.

She wanted to relish being the one leaving him behind, even in this tiny way. Sam could not. What she was doing now was nothing like he had done. With an inhalation that cost her every bit of her strength, she looked over her shoulder, pointedly, and looked at the door. It was not her fault if he didn't get the message.

_Father of mine_

_Tell me where have you been_

_You know I just closed my eyes, my whole world disappeared_

_Father of mine_

_Tell me where did you go_

_You had the world inside your hand but you did not seem to know_

_Father of Mine_ , Everclear

They should have just stayed at the hospital. So what if a three hour break between her PT and their group session was excessive to pass in the cafeteria? Sam wished they had done it.

Jake looked bewildered, though he was hiding it well.

The waiting room seemed huge and empty. The hospital felt like a ghost town, and she felt isolated. Dad said, "Aren't you wondering why I'm here?"

Sam shared a look with Jake, and shrugged. She turned back to her novel. She had read the same sentence 65 times. Where was Ella? Thankfully, before she could be expected to reply or something to her father, Ella's door swung open.

The psychologist stepped out, "Jake? Sam?" The waiting room was empty save for them, for once, and Ella stopped short as her gaze swept the room.

Her dangly earrings kept moving as her head bobbled to a stop. Sam saw the questions in her eyes as she lost her famous composure, "Mr. For-" She broke off when Dad cut in.

"Wyatt." Dad said, uncomfortably, "I'll wait here." He gestured to the waiting room with his eyes, not seeming to fare well under Ella's surprise. Sam knew exactly what he thought of mental health care, but she did not care.

She was proud of the work she and Jake had done, and not at all ashamed that she'd asked for help to do it. People with cancer went to oncologists, and people with allergies went to allergists. People who needed mental health care, in the same way, should be free to seek out help.

"A word, Sam, Jake?" Ella asked. They trooped into her office, knowing full well what she intended to ask. Ella was silent for a moment, looking back and forth between Sam and Jake. She studied the situation quickly, Sam saw, and said, "Perhaps, if Sam and Jake consent to the idea, you might join us for a time."

Ella was looking at them intently, clearly willing and able to nix the idea if they showed one ounce of unwillingness. Sam looked at Jake, and made her way to the door. As she passed Ella, she asked, "Why don't we all stuff in there like a can of sardines?"

"It so happens I've got olive oil in my desk." Ella returned, as Jake followed her into the room. Ella lowered her voice, even more. "You're free to decline, both of you."

Sam was fine with the choice Jake made. She did not care what Dad did or did not know, but she trusted Ella enough to go along with her her suggestions.

"Just so he knows the rules." Jake allowed. Ella excused herself, quickly, to fetch her father after gaining their assent and consent.

"Who cares if he does, Jake?" Sam said, as Jake settled himself uneasily onto the couch, "He'd just run back home and tell everybody how crazy we are." He looked at her empathetically, a soft expression entering his eyes. He was prepared for that eventuality, but trusted Ella, too.

"You know that this space is sacrosanct, Sam. I'm sure your father understands that confidentiality is required." Ella said, from the doorway, having overheard her words to Jake.

"Nothing is sacrosanct to Dad, Ella." Sam said, unable to express to Ella that he'd sacrifice it all to get what he wanted, never mind the carnage he leaves in his wake. Sam shut her mouth so hard her teeth rattled when Dad came in uneasily and sat down in the chair next to the couch. Their circle was filled in, Sam thought bitterly.

"Well." Ella said, "Now that we're all here..." She looked around, and said, "Wyatt, I take it Sam and Jake were not expecting you today." Sam barely stopped herself from snorting. Had they known to expect this, Ella would have known about it. Since Ella did not know, she could safely assume everything about what they must be, and were, feeling.

Ella thrived on calling into question the basic facts of existence, saying that questioning assumptions was an integral part of the process. "Why don't you share the reasons for your visit?"

Sam felt the tension in Jake as he practically vibrated with the efforts of staying still. Her legs felt like jelly. Dad spoke, "Well, Bryn said..."

Sam inhaled sharply, and Jake looked like he was about to snap in half, so brittle was his posture. It was correct and precise, on edge, and painfully contrasted to the softness of the couch he was sitting upon. Dad continued, not having heard her reaction, though Ella clearly did. She noticed everything. "...that Sue was right, and that allowing the silence to go on was no good."

"Wyatt, perhaps now would be a good time to introduce some ground rules of this conversation. In addition to the trust in confidentiality we have between us all, we also require 'I' statements." Dad would never know these things, because these ground rules were designed to help communication, and give them skills to use outside of this room.

Dad would never know, because he had not done these things so that the skills were second nature, "For example, one might say, 'I feel that...' or 'I saw...' to express their perceptions. While others are certainly helpful to our cognitions, we're all concerned with the thoughts of the other person here, not someone outside of this room." Ella finished, not unkindly.

"I apologize." Dad said, to Ella. He broke another rule. Nobody apologized for learning something. Saying sorry every thirty seconds to Ella was completely insane. Ella rarely needed an apology, and when she did, she addressed the situation rationally.

Dad looked at her, and Sam looked at the wall beyond his shoulder. "I uh, feel, that we need to talk, Sam."

He'd told her everything she needed to know. He was still with the woman, and he wasn't here because he wanted to be. "What would you like me to say?" She'd said all she had to say, somehow, in the lack of words. There was nothing to left to say.

"Something." Her father returned baldly. Sam did not want to hear the plea for communication in his voice, even as it was muffled by agitation. Jake was digging his fingers into his palm.

Sam looked to Jake, tried to silently convey support.

Dad took that to mean something else entirely. "Sam. I, uh, thought you would want to know that your bottle calves are well."

Sam looked at him, ice in her veins, "Oh, and I suppose that's your girlfriend's assessment, or have you retained some semblance of the ability to think for yourself?"

"Excuse me?" Her father returned.

Jake swallowed. He was barely sitting still.

Sam did not know why she bothered to open her mouth. She always seemed to say the last thing she wanted to say.

"You know what? Forget it." Sam replied. "I should not even bother."

"Sam, you're entitled to your feelings." Ella reminded her. Ella hated self-censorship, that was, until you had said what you were thinking and really explored it. "Please understand that whatever is said here only serves to help in the end."

Sam rolled her eyes. None of this was helpful to Jake, or to her. 

Jake spoke, "No. I want to know." He paused for a second, "Why are you really here?"

Sam filled him in, "Come on, Jake. You know better. He wants to assuage his conscious while he runs up home and plays the bachelor." Sam thought back over some hints her aunt had dropped that only made sense in retrospect, "You know and I know that Sue has told him about the fact that I haven't signed those papers. He's come to convince me to do it."

Sam narrowed her eyes, "I'm right on the mark, aren't I?"

Her father looked shocked, his face bloodless. "I did wonder why you haven't signed those papers."

"I chose, Dad." Sam replied, "You should understand that."

"You don't get to make that choice, Sam. I've been kind." Sam was reeling. He had been kind? Kind? "But you are a child."

On what planet was a person who fought tooth and nail to live, to survive, and to find some space in the world, dealing with the things she'd had to endure, was considered a child? "I'm a child when it suits you, when you want to control me or to assert your role as my father. The rest of the time, I'm just a person, same as anybody, trying to muddle through a situation you will never understand."

"I understand." Dad countered with some kind of fake sympathy that could never pass as empathy. It was all Sam could do, not to cry and scream at the same time.

Jake replied, when he realized that she was not going to correct her father. Sam looked at Jake, and knew, knew from the light in his eyes that he had been pushed too far. There was no changing his mind.

_She laid her heart and soul right in your hands_

_And you stole her every dream and you crushed her plans_

_She never even knew she had a choice and that's what happens_

_When the only voice she hears is telling her she can't_

_So what made you think you could take a life and just push it, push it around?_

_I guess to build yourself up so high, you had to take her and break her down_

_Stupid Boy,_  Keith Urban

"Don't lie to her, Wyatt. Don't sit here and lie to our faces. You have no right to say you understand anything because you haven't been here, or even tried. You sit there staring at the chair like you can't see the person in it." Jake felt a calm fury wash over him as he realized that Wyatt now knew that he had seen the man staring uncomfortably at his own daughter.

He knew what Ayers meant now. He understood.

"What do you both want me to say?" Wyatt said, defensively. "That I am sorry you got hurt, Sam? Of course I'm sorry about the accident. I'm sorry you'll never be able to do all the things you wanted to do."

Jake could barely restrain the urge to toss Wyatt out of the room. Sam had tensed so quickly he almost worried that she was seizing. What the hell? He acted like people with injuries never recovered, or that people with injuries and disabilities never rode or did anything other than sit and stare. What kind of abelist crap was this?

"You think this about the accident?" Sam exclaimed, "Of course! Because I can't have anything else in my life beyond a physical injury. That's got to be the center, the sum total of my personhood, right? The broken brain defines me. What about my broken heart, Dad, what about that?"

No one spoke. Jake didn't have words. He just wanted to hold her.

Ella let the silence settle around them. "Sam, can you finish this sentence: I feel...because..." Ella cleared wanted to keep the lines of communication open. This was a low-key way to refocus and keep control of the room.

Sam unballed her fingers, and gripped Jake so tightly he knew that every ounce of pain that she was not expressing was being channeled into her body. Jake felt the stress, and the tension, but he also heard the conviction in her words. "I feel more aware. I've gotten the answers I needed."

"Where do you see this going, Sam?" Ella asked. Jake felt her inhale, felt her grip relax as their heartbeats raced in tandem. She was sweating, and but he had never seen her more in control. Pride rushed through him, even as he hated Wyatt.

Sam paused, "Well. Dad will go home. I'll...stay here. I'll finish high school, and go to college. Maybe I'll stop by once and a while to see Gram, though to be honest, I probably won't." Jake agreed. They could go to Three Ponies, could stay there as long as they wanted to, but there was no way in hell he was going to allow Wyatt to put her down like that, not when he should have been bending over backwards to keep her in his life, "I'm going to ask Jen to take my horses."

Jake understood that giving her horses to Jen would shatter their friendship. She would trust Jen with her horses, but that didn't mean that she could go to Harmony and see them, or easily face Jen after feeling like a failure. 

"You...don't want to come home, Sam?" Wyatt asked, slowly, "You won't be able to take over the place, but I'm not dead yet."

Jake about ripped into Wyatt on that. How dare he saw that she could not inherit River Bend? How dare he even assert that she could not give her soul to that place as she had every day of her life? Jake had sat here, and watched her claw her way out of hell for that one reason. She wanted to be worthy of Wyatt's ranch. Well, Wyatt had another thing coming.

Wyatt was not worthy of her. He opened his mouth to say so, when Sam spoke, softly, confidently, like she didn't care, like this wasn't clearly ripping her apart inside. 

"Please feel free to sell my saddles." Sam said, calmly. "Pepper can have whatever money you get for his book fund."

Sell her saddles?

Fucking hell. 

Jesus, how serious was this, how brokenhearted was she?

Nobody talked about selling their saddles or giving away their horses, not when there was any other option. Your horse and your saddle were the last thing to go. Jake would sooner sell the Scout and live on peanut butter so his horse could eat. He could bum a ride quicker than he could bum a saddle from somebody. As long as they had saddles and horses, they had the means to work, to live. He could not watch her give up on the will to live because of the asshole before them. 

He sat in the chair, like he had a right to dictate to Sam, to rip away her future, her dreams, and he didn't care. He wasn't begging her to come home, wasn't saying that she could make it work, wasn't telling her that he loved her. Jake felt that these omissions were a slap in the face. 

"Sam." Jake whispered brokenly, looking into her pale face and shuttered eyes. Her knees were pressing down into her seat with force to keep her feet from shaking with stress. "You don't want this."

"Dallas will do his best." Sam smiled at him, but Jake saw no joy it in. He saw the smile of a woman who was putting on a brave front for those she cared about. She was doing this for him, for Jake, even as he sat her and let her father rip her soul to shreds with a few simple words. "You heard Dad."

"What I heard, Sam," Jake corrected, "Was you sitting down and taking his shit." He wasn't mad at Sam, but he was this close to killing Wyatt.

He looked at the shell of the man he had once idolized above all others, and did not even give him the respect of framing a question that was meant for him, to him. As far as Jake was concerned, Sam was the only person in the room worth this, "Who the hell is he to tell you what to do with your horses? Who made him God to decide what you'll ever do?"

"It's his ranch, Jake, not mine." Sam reminded him, "His, and if he...makes this choice, I have to respect it." Her words were soft, searching.

She was trying to soothe him. They all saw it. Ella wasn't dumb, and while Wyatt was stupid, but he was being hit over the head with the fact that the daughter he'd abandoned was more of a person of substance than he would ever be.

The look on his face was completely awestruck. Wyatt wouldn't know love if it hit him in the face.

"You have to respect him, when he has not done anything to respect you?" Jake summarized.

Wyatt had no respect for her. He had not sat here, and watched Sam grow and learn and change, just to prove herself worthy of her unquestioned birthright. Wyatt did not respect the years of love and care she had poured into River Bend, never asking anything but to be better at it, to know more about running that ranch.

Wyatt owed her. He owed her everything that ranch was, all the stuff with HARP and the little kids who came on school trips, and all the advocacy he had connected with because of Sam's passions. He owed her for every second she had put into that ranch, for every bit of her soul that she had entrusted to that land, and to the work she had done there. He owed her for every calf she had saved, every momma she had doctored, every crop she had helped to bring in, everything. 

He owed her. He owed her the respect of seeing the woman beyond this injury, the woman who would fight and die for her home, her horses, and everything they meant. She would do exactly as she pleased.

She would have a home. She did have one. If Wyatt didn't want her joy and her hope in his life, it was Wyatt's loss.

Wyatt broke in, "Jacob Ely!" As if he had the right to be angry at his words.

Wyatt's words had done far more damage than his ever could. With two words, Wyatt had ripped Sam's dreams away from her, ripped away the one goal that had kept her going, even as she sat there calmly. She was going through hell inside, and she sat there, trying to support him when she knew that he was upset.

Jake hoped Wyatt knew how much of ant he was. He was lower than an ant. He hoped Wyatt knew that in building up his choices, in making himself superior, he had made his daughter feel like dirt. Jake knew in his soul that Wyatt would come to regret it. Sam would live, and Jake knew that Wyatt would regret not being a part of it.

"What, you gave her space?" Jake mocked, "I told you once. She didn't need space. She needed her family."

Jake dealt the death blow to any relationship they might have ever had, "I won't be sorry when someone like Slocum buys you out, Wyatt. I won't." Jake knew that he would only be sad because of Sam's sadness. Otherwise, he would have rejoiced, rejoiced that Wyatt was being forced to live through his worst nightmare, just like he was doing to Sam in this room. 

"Maybe then you can spend all of your time in town." He spoke his truth without pride, a quite, steely knowing. He knew just what Wyatt was, and Sam was so much better than that. 

They stared at each other for a second, the emotion and the reality in the room was palpable. Ella let them sit for a second, perhaps hoping that Wyatt would open up and talk.

Jake knew he wouldn't. What someone saw with Wyatt was what they got. And, right now, from now on, they got nothing. Oh, God, Jake had never hated someone so much in his life. 

Ella gently shifted the conversation. She wanted Jake to breathe, and they would come back to this, Jake knew. It was Ella's way. "Is it safe to say, Sam, that you feel your father has effectively cut you off? How does that make you feel?"

Sam inclined her head like a warrior princess."Well, I just hope he knows what he's doing when he's got to file the HARP paperwork." She knew better than anyone else that she was the heart and soul of River Bend.

One day, Wyatt would see that, and even if he didn't, Jake didn't care. So long as Sam knew that her worth and her value had nothing to do with any of this. So long as she knew that the accident didn't really take away the things that really mattered.

Ella asked, "You have no intention of continuing your work at all?" The doctor was assessing the room, taking careful stock of the situation all around them. Jake knew that Ella had complete control of this room, even if he had felt lost a few moments ago. This was going to be okay.

"How can I?" Sam replied, "He just said that I would never do it." Jake did not understand how she could be so calm. He needed to talk to her, look at her when she wasn't hiding her emotions. He needed to understand. Bringing Wyatt in here was a bad idea.

"I meant..." Wyatt fumbled with his words.

Ella broke in, "Mr. Forster. You seem to be operating under some very common, but very incorrect assumptions. Sam has made immeasurable progress." Ella's voice was somehow authoritative, controlling, like she was putting a kid in their place after she found pot in their bedroom, "There is no reason that she shouldn't be back to riding and every other activity within the foreseeable future."

Wyatt's skin shifted colors quickly. Jake didn't care. He only saw the hurt flash in Sam's eyes as her father looked at the chair beneath her. Had he asked, he would have known that she was using it less and less with every day that passed, and had only used it now because they'd walked to Starbucks from Sue's. That kind of distance wasn't worth it, yet, not when enjoying her tea was the goal. "But she isn't..."

"I did not say there would be no modifications made." Jake understood where Ella was going when she cut him off.

She was giving Wyatt no quarter, no mercy. She was treating him as though a doctor would treat anyone who was a threat to the well being of their patients, like gum on their shoe, or an infection to be rid of, even though she was nice about it, "What I did say, however, was that your assumptions that Sam will never achieve the sort of career and lifestyle she has spent her entire life working towards is impeding this conversation and devaluing her progress. Before we go any further, you must understand that she is healing."

Ella educated Wyatt firmly, "She cannot, for example, ride today, but there is no reason she won't, and medically speaking, it's best to operate under the assumption that a person will go back to do doing the things that made their lives meaningful."

Again, the room was silent. "Sam," Wyatt asked, "Please give me a moment with Ella."

Surprisingly, Ella consented to Wyatt kicking them out of their own session. Jake was tense as he watched something come over Sam's eyes stealing the hope that Ella's factual words had etched in every line of her body, and followed her out of the room. It was clear that they needed to hash out a new plan.

 _I'll hold my head high_  
 _I'll never let this define the light in my eyes_  
 _Love myself, give it Hell_  
 _I'll take on this world if I stand and be strong_  
 _No, I'll never give up_  
 _I will conquer with love_  
 _And I'll fight_  
 _Like a girl,_ Bombshell

"Sam." Jake "We need to tell him." Sam could not believe what Jake said as soon as he shut the door behind them. The waiting room was clear of people again, save a few that walked by.

"No." Sam replied flatly, looking up to meet his eyes as best she could. "I'm not going to ever mention it. I changed my mind." He had told her that this choice was hers, and she trusted Jake.

She trusted him to understand that there was nothing for her to go back to in Darton. She hoped that he trusted her enough to understand that she wouldn't be hurt when he made his own choices. He was clearly hurt, and Sam wouldn't add to it.

Jake sat down in a chair and pulled it forward, brushing his knees against hers. Jake sighed, "He needs to know what's on the table, Sam."

Sam didn't understand why he was insisting upon this, insisting that she make herself even more vulnerable to a man that had as good as ripped away every goal she'd had. All her life, she had wanted to do her father's job, one day. She'd worked hard to understand the cattle. They weren't a part of her soul like her horses, but she loved them, believed in her mission to take care of them, give them a good life. She wasn't out to make money off of her work, not really, even though she knew that the ranch needed the money. The horses, the cattle, the ranch, was about more than money. It was her life.

Her life had been built on things that were never hers to start with. River Bend was her father's ranch, and she had no right to believe that he would share it, not when he'd seen that she was okay with Sue. He had discharged his responsibility for her, and it had to be enough. Sam knew she would cry later. "Why, so he can laugh in my face, pat me on the head, and run home?"

"Sam." Jake said softly, almost imperceptibly, as they watched someone walk by, "I know you don't trust him. I'm not asking you to trust him. I'm asking you to trust your soul. He's blown his first and second chances."

Jake was a big believer in the rules. He believed in a three shot rule. You hurt him, and you got three chances to make it right. With his family, though, and with her, the chances seemed endless. She'd, over the last months, screamed and yelled at him, hurt him in innumerable ways, and he had not walked away, not even when she'd begged him to do it, in action and deed, if not in word.

Jake squeezed her hand, ran his thumb over her wrist, softly, "Give him his third, and then we don't have to leave without washing our hands. We're going to leave this room knowing exactly what and who he is, and so will he. The only difference is that, no matter what happens, we're going to walk out of here understanding that we came out better for knowing."

Sam bit her lip. He had a point. She wanted a future, a future based on the things she could trust. It was clear that the only things she could trust were the things she tested and still found to be true. She had been tested, and so had Jake. The rest of their world was yet to be seen. Dad deserved another shot, not for his own sake, but for her heart. She believed that she was a fair and honest person, who gave every person a fair shake, no matter if they had earned it. Jake continued, "I promise you. Whatever happens next, we've got this."

Before she could reply, the door opened, and Ella beckoned them inward. Sam inhaled. They could do this. Before Ella could speak, before Jake even had sat down again, Dad spoke, "I needed to talk to Ella."

Sam frowned, "I think you should get your own psychologist." The idea that Ella had even maybe, even unwittingly, broken professional codes in here was staggering. Sam hoped that Ella had held fast to the trust she and Jake had given her. The things Ella knew, even though she did not know everything, would be amazing weapons in the hand of her father.

"I've made it clear to your father, Sam, and I would like to be clear with you and Jake. Your father is not my client. Professionally, my code of ethics precludes taking him on or discussing your relationships without you both present due to a conflict of interest." Ella replied, gently.

Sam felt glad. She knew it was foolish, but she felt a spark of belonging. Ella was biased, at least professionally, towards her, and that meant that Ella was in their corner, no matter what she thought personally.

"I came here, Sam." Dad began, slowly, "To understand why you refuse to sign the school papers. I could enroll you without your say, but Sue refused to even consider doing it." Dad sighed, "She was right."

"Oh?" Sam said, cooly. "Why?" Sam felt badly for so misunderstanding her aunt, sometimes. She knew that Sue was lax, and a bit odd, but it appeared that Sam had misjudged her aunt quite badly.

Sue cared very much. She cared so much that she was not willing to control Sam, or tell her what to do, but rather tried to empower her own choices. It was not the love of an adult for a child in their care. It was the respect and the admiration and the trust one adult gave another. Sam was humbled by the regard she hadn't seen her aunt giving her, even as she was broken inside. It felt huge, a wonderful gift.

Ella had taught her how to evaluate bad situations, to try to find something to cling to where there seemingly was nothing left. This was a situation so very bad, that it could not get worse. She had lost her home, and every plan for her future.

And yet, Sam felt free, somehow, like she could take what she had learned and move forward once the hurt stopped. Her life was in ashes around her again, but she had built a life here, and she would build one again based on suppositions that were actually true. There had to be some way, somehow. She had more questions than she had answers. Jake was there, though.

His hand was wrapped around hers, and she did not care what her father thought about the contact.

"It doesn't matter. You're coming home. Back to Darton High." Dad elaborated, as though the matter was closed and high school was the whole of her existence. "Things will be normal again."

Sam felt the response well up inside of her, "No, Dad. They never will." She was not the little girl he'd walked away from, and she was not dependent on her Daddy to love and take of her. She wanted his love, but she would not die without it. She was a strong person, with people who loved her because of who she was, like Sue had said, and not their role in her life. She had changed. She had not once thought of school.

Her every fantasy was being fulfilled. The dreams of this moment were far better than the reality. He wanted her to come home. She wanted to come home, but she could no longer expect that they would go back to the way things were.

They were different people. She was no longer the other half of a team based on father/daughter dynamics. Her father had always said that if things changed, that they would make choices together, as a team. He had come through with being here in the first place, nor with Brynna, nor with coming home.

One.

Two.

Three.

The realization sank deeply into her core.

She looked at Jake. "What do you think?" She needed his support, wanted it more than anything. She knew what her response would be, but she wanted Jake with her on it. She wanted Jake with her always, because this would be a change in his life, too.

He flicked a glance at her, and Sam read it easily. Ella had used a few sessions to explore their non-verbal communication, as she called it, and everybody was cool with it. Dad didn't have to agree with her choices for Sam to know it was the right one. Sam understood what Jake was saying non-verbally. They needed to do this on their own terms, for their own reasons. She was not to cower to her father's will. "I don't know, Dad. This isn't a choice I can make blindly." She said, echoing Ella's words from days ago.

"You don't...know?" He repeated, clearly flabbergasted. Ella looked supportive and impassive. Jake was a steady support, ready to back her up. Sam believed that with her soul, even though he was probably shocked.

"No." Sam shook head, summarizing months of lessons she'd learned the hard way, "I'm not sure because I know that we've all changed. We can't be who we were." The words were an honest catharsis, a statement of months of hardship boiled down simply. "And life will never be what it was." She did not say why or how she knew that to be true, because she still wasn't sure.

She had no idea. Still, she did know that she was a much different girl. She wasn't a girl, even. She was a woman who had to face the world on her own, who had to stand for something. The facts were facts, and Sam found, after a few seconds, that she was okay with them. They proved a firm foundation for whatever came next, even though she had no idea what it was. She would never have expected these words from her father, to say the least.

There seemed to be nothing to say. Her father filled the silence. "I think it is best, Sam, that you come home." He certainly changed his tune fast, but Sam understood what he meant when he added, "If you want to sell your saddles, you can, but you're going to keep the money and do something with it."

Sam looked to Jake, and made up her mind. His words weren't everything, but they were a start.

_I said to him_

_You can't always get what you want_

_You can't always get what you want_

_You can't always get what you want_

_But if you try sometimes you just might find_

_You get what you need_

_You Can't Always Get What You Want,_  The Rolling Stones

Jake leaned against the wall of the bedroom door, watching Sam intently as she bent forward, her face over her knees to stretch out her back. She looked up, "You can help, you know."

Jake sat down behind her, knowing that the bed was not the best surface for stretches, but Sue and Wyatt were talking in the living room, and Sam hadn't wanted to be out there if someone blew a fuse. Wyatt had asked that he speak to Sue, and Sam had allowed that.

Jake hoped they knew that the final choice was Sam's, about everything. He would not allow them to try and force her hand, and he did not care what Wyatt thought of him.

Carefully, he pressed his palm over the vertebras in the small of her back, pushing the stretch just a few more degrees. The muscles in Sam's back were tight as she sat up and did a trunk rotation, probably to soothe her body, and partly to look at him. Jake asked, "What are we doing?"

With a slow smile, Sam replied, "Do you feel like doing something wild and crazy?" She had always asked him that question, for years, such a question had preceded wild stunts, passionate actions that defined who they were.

"Always." Jake grinned. No matter what they did, Jake knew that they had each other's backs, literally and figuratively. They were a team, and they could face anything square. He knew exactly what they were doing, just because of the question she'd just asked, and hoped that he would have enough time to eat a meal and get some sleep before she pulled him out the door and blasted the radio. He drove, and she called the shots from the passenger seat. His life was a roller coaster, and Jake knew that they were heading for a double corkscrew now that they had leveled out after falling off what felt like a cliff.

"You know, it's you who made this choice." Sam mused, as Jake ran his fingers up her back. The slim surface was tight, and he hated the tension he felt in her body, even as it slowly melted away. She was working hard to sit, Jake knew.

"No, it wasn't." Jake knew that this had to be her choice. She had to make choices for her, and for once in their lives, she was going to do it boldly. He did not want to take away her independence. He saw it as his job to protect her autonomy, when she asked him for help. It wasn't right, to make someone's choice or to make them choose. The blessing came in their freely made choice.

"Yeah, it was. You said that we had to find what really matters and cling to that." Sam insisted. Jake had to think back to that conversation, and wondered how on earth a conversation they'd had in the car going home a weeks ago had stuck with her like that.

"That's how I made up my mind." Jake reached for her hand, and let her hand go as she turned over her wrist and placed her upturned palm on top of his. His fingers wrapped loosely around her her wrist, ghosted over the brown bear there.

"So...?" Jake pressed, "I'm guessing I should change the oil in the Scout." It was crazy, the idea that they would be in such close proximity to Wyatt when they could barely stand his guts. It was crazy to be having to fix up new therapy schedules, to cope with a new way of being when they were just finding their feet here. And yet, they were doing it, because the important things were predicated upon taking the risks, acknowledging that, at their core, Sam was a wild and free spirit made of joy and light and that he, despite his caution, was never more than two steps behind her in following her dreams, in creating dreams they shared.

Sam grinned, "I'd say that's pretty important." Within two seconds, she had rotated quickly and he had a lap full of Sam. A slow grin overtook her face, "Are we completely crazy, or what?"

Jake was transfixed by the impish glee in her face. It was tempered by a resolute knowing that shook him. The little girl she had been had scrunched her nose when she smiled, and Jake was always happy when it happened now, when she smiled so broadly that her face was overtaken by it.

Jake returned her hug and smiled into her hair. They were doing this. No matter who they became, who they were hadn't really changed. They'd grown from this, and somehow, the lessons that been beaten into them had made them stronger. He didn't know if what they were doing was right, or if it was wise in the end, but there was no denying the joy they shared in the moment.

_Now I ain't sayin' it's right or it's wrong_

_But maybe it's the only way_

_Talk about your revolution_

_It's Independence Day_

_Independence Day,_  Martina McBride

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All MF quotes come from "Panopticism" found in Discipline & Punish: The Birth of the Prison. It's all over the web if you don't have a paper copy. Seriously though, it's a great book.


	18. Rome (Wasn't Built in a Day)

_And I'm just trying to survive_

_What if what you do to survive,_

_Kills the things you love?_

_Fear's a powerful thing, baby_

_It can turn your heart black you can trust_

_It'll take your God filled soul_

_And fill it with devils and dust_

_Devils and Dust_ , Bruce Springsteen

Sam leaned against her trunk, and tried not to sit on it. It seemed horrible to sit when Jake was working. After thinking on it a moment, she sat down, kicking her legs out in front of her as she sat atop the trunk. She stared at legs that were generously called short, but were more accurately called stubby, and wondered how she had let Sue talk her into all of these clothes.

Guilt was a powerful motivator. Sue was hurt, though she tried to hide it, and Sam hoped that by conforming somehow, that she would be sharing something with her aunt that she had never shared with anyone else. Sam was a liar. She had allowed Sue to believe, to operate under the assumption, that Dad was making her come home.

So, Sam had schlepped around the streets of San Francisco, allowing Sue to dress her up and spend money that should have been applied to other things. Sam insisted on thrifting and frugality, picking intentionally items off the sale racks. Sue shopped with a vengeance. Sam couldn't help but wonder if this was a way of punishing her for leaving, no matter what Sue had said. She believed that Dad was insisting Sam go, not that Sam wanted to leave. 

It felt odd. Sam had left her home wearing torn and bloody clothing, and had come home with so much that she had no idea where to put it all. Jake was going to have to help her to shove some of it in her already stuffed closet at Three Ponies.

Maybe Jen would help her clean it out. Jen was good at organizing things. And then Sam could bring up her horses. 

The heat was blistering. Sam had no idea why she was sitting out here, staring at her brown flats and the pale legs that led up to the hem of the most serviceable dress Sue let her buy, a dark blue thing with cap sleeves and a peasant vibe. She had finally shaved her legs, with Regina's help. It was a tough thing, though, and not something she was looking forward to repeating. She could hardly ask Gram to help her shave her legs. 

Sam pushed back an errant strand of hair, and patted Blaise, who had trotted up to her. "Hey..." Blaise demanded attention that Sam was happy to provide. His fur was coarse and heavy, warm and textured, under her hand. His doggy smile was happy. 

She looked around, and did not see power lines. She did not see big homes turned into countless apartments, nor did she see bustling crowds. She heard nature. She saw, for the first time in forever, a home that she did not have to leave in the foreseeable future. She could park herself here and never, ever move.

It was glorious. She shut her eyes and basked like a cat in the dry heat, a warmth so overwhelming that it almost lulled her off, and something so missed that she didn't quite care. Sam hummed, a low sound of pleasure.

Her backside ached from balancing on the trunk, but she didn't care.

In the distance, the door swung open. Jake was hauling all of her junk, equipment, inside and would not let her help. He'd frowned at her when she'd tried to pick up her medication bag, and carted it inside pointedly, a mulish look on his face.

So, she'd parked it on the piles. She did not open her eyes when a shadow was cast across her body, "I'm so lazy." She mocked herself, knowing that Jake had all but begged her to stay put, in his own way. He wanted things the way he wanted things, and it was no skin off her nose to accommodate him from time to time, even when he was being unreasonable.

Instead of the snort of laughter she'd come to expect from Jake, she heard a different voice assert, "Sure seems that way."

Sam gasped, and jumped, nearly falling off the trunk. Luckily, she hauled herself up at the last second before her dress malfunctioned or something equally embarrassing. She yanked the sleeve back in place. The dress was a bit big because she still had not filled out even a fraction of her former curvature, but she'd neglected to tailor the dress because she held out hope that one day, she would wake up with boobs like girls in movies who somehow woke up looking amazing without any effort.

She opened her eyes as her head spun and forced herself to look up. The dog was right there, and Sam patted his fur, hand over his collar. He felt like a tight spring. 

The blonde, sunburnt person was looking at her with a hooded expression in his watery eyes. He made her skin crawl. 

"I'm Sam." She quickly said, saying the first thing that came to her mind, "Jake's carrying my things inside." She wanted this person to know who she was, and where Jake was.

She supposed that she was rather used to introducing him to people when she introduced herself. It was saying something to say that she was the talkative one.

"So, do you always get the help to cart your things in?" His tone was conversational, almost like he was kidding. Sam didn't think he was, given the snide inflection on some of the words. Still, he could probably pass his words off as joking, and maybe he was. She wondered quickly where Jake was. The hairs on her arms were standing up. Where was Jake?

Sam felt the steel in her spine, "Jake is very helpful to me." She hoped she sounded imperious enough to this man. He did help her, but he didn't get anything in return for it. Well, that wasn't true. Sometimes she was nice, and she let him think he always held the remote. Where was Jake?

"Well." He said, "I'm J.J." 

Oh. Sam understood. He was her replacement, and he wondered at her. Sam loathed him instantly, though she did her best to push that away. It wasn't his fault that he'd walked into this mess. 

Her goodwill vanished when he said, "You should know that I don't carry bags." He had not insulted her, then, in calling her lazy, but had insulted Jake in insisting he was a...helper. 

With that, he turned and strode back towards the barn. Sam was glad, because he did not need to be around Jake. 

Only then did Blaise move away from her.

She looked at the dog, "That was odd."

Blaise gave a soft "grr..." and looked toward J.J.

Sam agreed, "You're right, Blaise. He is a grumpy Gus."

As soon as the dog pattered up to the porch, Sam pushed herself up into a standing position. She yanked the dress down. The hem was too short. A voice spoke again, "Why are you up?" Jake asked, coming down the stairs.

Sam jumped again.

Jake looked at her, clearly wondering why she was so jumpy.

"I, uh." Sam replied, "Just met J.J." Sam hoped that she had misheard all that had been unsaid in their discussion. "I think he thinks you still work here."

Jake rolled his eyes. He picked up another bag, slug it over his shoulder, and moved towards the door. "How much clothing did she ship out here?"

Sam agreed with his tone, but tried to present a solution. "Will you take some of it home?" Sam took Jake's free hand and got herself up the stairs with relative ease. Jake kept the conversation going as they moved towards the front door.

"What do you mean 'will I?'" Jake asked, holding the screen door out above Sam's head as they passed by, "We're going to miss lunch. You can put away your own clothes."

"I thought you were supposed to help me." She joked, relief filling her. He expected that they would stay together. It was a delay to a separation, a delay that Sam welcomed. She felt a weight lift away, though it loomed above her head.

Jake huffed and went to finish grabbing everything. Sam sat down on the couch, and called to Cougar, "Hey!" She made a few silly noises, and with catlike grace, he sped across the room and into her lap.

Sam was glad to see that, once again, her clothes had cat hair and dog hair on them.

Grabbing a bag that was left in the living room, she headed to the bathroom downstairs. Shutting the door, she yanked her dress over her head.

Standing in the tiny bathroom, she carefully sat down and pulled off her flats. She could not believe that Sue had insisted on this bra. Sam knew she alone had elected to put it on this morning, but she did have to admit it was pretty in an understated way. Sue called it sedate. Sam thought it was serviceable, or the most serviceable thing Sue would allow her to buy. Sam wished that the straps didn't cover a web of fresh skin that was pink and raw as it healed.

The scrapes were gone, for the most part, but the skin was still new. 

With a sigh, she reached into the bag and pulled out a blouse. The summer plaid was dark, a series of cremes and tans. It suited Sam far better than the blue of the dress. She pulled it over her head and yanked it down, watching as the top skimmed the bottom of her waist. The slim gathers were meant to give the allusion of a shape she did not have.

She riffled through the bag for a pair of jeans. These were a few weeks old, but they had been barely worn, as wearing pants for long periods of time hurt if she was sitting in the wheelchair. The seams dug into her, giving her issues with her sensory integration.

Moreover, when she had to go to the bathroom, in a small stall with a big wheelchair, standing up to yank down pants was sometimes harder than pulling up a skirt because of the ease of movement when she had to turn and sit.

Still, Sam pulled on the crisp denim, using the edge of the vanity to hold onto to balance. She put on the left leg first, and struggled to point her feet in putting on the jeans. The legs were slim enough that it was tough. Sam knew that she would never again feel or look like herself. 

"Sam?" She heard Jake call out through the door. It sounded like he was in the living room.

Scurrying, she yanked up the jeans with one final tug and fumbled with the snap. "Hang on!"

"We're going to be late for dinner." Jake reminded her. Sam shoved her dress into the bag, and placed the flats on top of that, yanking quickly at the zipper. She picked it up and left the bathroom.

Exhaling, she left the kitchen. Jake turned around, and whatever he'd been about to say died on his lips. "There's somewhere we need to go, first." She carefully wiggled her toes in the carpet.

She did not even flinch as she dropped the duffel, and heard it hit the floor with a thunk as his brown eyes widened in realization. "I need help with my boots."

_'Cause you do what you gotta do, and you know what you know._

_You hang on till you can't hang on, then you learn to let go._

_You get what you want sometimes,_

_but when it's all said and done,_

_you do what you gotta do_

_then you let that pony run._

_Let that Pony Run_ , Pam Tillis

"It's okay." He felt the need to soothe her, to make her feel better, the way that she always did for him, especially right now. "You've got this."

Sam looked to him with a concerned expression on her face. They were half way to the barn, now, and would get to the ten acre soon enough. "She hates me."

"I feel that's illogical." Jake replied. He was thankful for Ella's training. He didn't want to Sam to feel that she was illogical, but rather to point out that she didn't have to feel that way. "You watch."

It was Jake who found himself watching Sam as he unhooked the gate, and let her through. This was tough for him. He didn't want her to see it right now, though. The metal of the gate as it moved made him shudder. It broke the silence between them in a way that was creepy.

He admitted to himself that he was scared. He didn't know what Sam was praying for, though he hoped she got it. He felt the brittle hope between them and prayed that this reunion would go well.

Sam refused to try and get the chair out here, saying that she'd just sat on her behind for hours. Jake knew better, knew that she wanted to get back here on her own power. The horses were all disinterested in their arrival.

Sam entered the pasture, and breathed deeply. He was thankful that Grace was still at church with Wyatt. He was thankful that this moment, whatever it was, was between them. Jake swore he saw something within her spark, something flash, as she reconnected with terra firma, reconnected with the land that consumed her soul and nourished her in a way that mere food never could. He closed the gate, loathe to break the spell around them.

Sam reached for his hand, then, and they started to walk. Ten acres was a long way, but he understood her need to seek out her horses, and not the other way around. They were not expecting her. They walked in silence over the rippling terrain, something building between them and all around them.

Sam stopped, almost tumbling over when Jake kept going. He paused mid-stride.

Ace and Kitty were together. Jake understood Sam's surprise. They never hung out. Kitty tended towards mothering horses like Penny and Blue Wings, and Ace was something of a loner. He was the low man on the totem poll, and only really had something of a friendship with Cougar and Popcorn.

And yet, there they were, obviously interacting. Jake read them easily, and saw when the two horses noticed Sam. Ace's ears perked, and Kitty's nostrils flared as she inhaled. Slowly, both horses looked up.

Jake hoped Sam was watching, could see their reactions, beyond her tears. She wiped her nose on the hem of her shirt.

Kitty, taking the lead as she often did, came over to Sam. Sam was stock still, seemingly wondering what Kitty would do.

Jake was not surprised when Kitty laid her head on Sam's shoulder and made a soft sound. Kitty had always done that as a social behavior. It was a gesture of affection they knew well. The bond between horse and girl was there, unbroken, though shaken.

Sam's tears flowed after that, and Jake knew that he was seeing something no one else ever would. Sam reached up and hugged her horse. "Oh, God, Kitty..."

The horse looked at Sam as if to say, "Well, there's no need to cry." There was a comforting grumble that came from the horse that said it all. "You're back now."

Jake saw the affection in the horse's actions. Sam had the relationship with Kitty that every rider strove for. Neither the horse or Sam questioned the fact that they were partners, respected and loved, in a relationship that meant everything to each other.

Jake knew that if the situation got out of hand, and became something where Kitty was invading Sam's space, that there would need to be groundwork and discussion to correct that. It wasn't what he saw here, and he wasn't going to be the one to ask Sam to move away from Kitty.

He was right here, and if Kitty pushed, or if Ace did, it would be easy to bolster Sam and help her to stay on her feet. This was simple reconnection, and the gesture was short and quick, a simple hello that was embedded in his mind. He knew now, why they had made the choice to come here, when it didn't make sense.

Jake moved closer to Sam as Ace came forward, totally unfazed by the feminine display. He snorted, and nosed at Sam, standing next to her. She was wobbly, but Jake never moved. Ace stood there, carefully, displaying his floppy, begging ears.

She gave a watery laugh. "He wants a treat." She patted her pockets, "I don't have one, baby." Sam watched the horse, disappointment clear in her voice. Her hands reached out to reconnect with Ace, and he saw her Sam relax as her hands felt the comforting texture of horsehair. She had been worried that the texture would hurt, but evidently, it didn't.

Jake cut into the cocoon of horse and girl, and slipped a treat into her hand, over her shoulder.

Over her shoulder, Sam smiled, "Thanks."

Jake nodded as the horse crunched away on the apple flavored treat. The moment was full and almost overwhelming in its intensity. Jake praised God for this moment, praised God that they had made it home in the only way that really mattered.

They were home. Sam had dirt and dust on her jeans and horsehair in her hair, and there was indescribable joy written in her eyes. Jake forgot about lunch, forgot about being hungry. In this moment, his soul was fed. They spent an endless amount of time, standing there, until Jake knew that Sam's feet started to ache. The horses had gone back to munching on grass, and so they, in silent mutual accord, began to walk towards the Scout.

When Jake closed the gate behind them, Sam whispered, "Do you think I'll ever ride again?"

"No, Sam." Jake replied, "I know you will." Jake already had a plan. They needed time to hash it out, but they would. She would be everything she wanted to be, because there was no stopping Sam. The accident hadn't stopped her, nor had the recovery, nor had that man she had called her father. Nothing was going to stop her, not if he could help it.

_So when you see the cowboy, he's not ragged by his choice_

_He never meant to bow them legs_

_Or put that gravel in his voice_

_He's just chasin' what he really loves_

_And what's burnin' in his soul_

_The Cowboy Song_ , Garth Brooks

Sam stuffed the last item into her closet and tried in vain to shut the door. It would not meet the jamb.

She threw her entire body weight against it and shoved, almost falling over in the process. No dice. She growled, and opened the door with some force, almost falling over again. Staring at the packed rack, she started pulling and yanking things off of the rack with the intention of storing things elsewhere. There was a rainstorm of fabric around her as greens and blues and grays fell on the floor into piles.

She removed a few items and shut the door. Turning, she looked behind her and saw that it looked like a volcano exploded. What was she going to do? She let out a shriek of frustration.

The day had gone from difficult, to magical, to hard again.

Gram had been upset that she'd shown up for dinner at Three Ponies with horse slobber in her hair. There hadn't been drool in her hair. Sam had checked. Gram was just cheesed because she'd shown up without saying so, again, and disrupted a lovely Sunday dinner with that woman.

Dad had barely said two words to her as Sam had made quick work of getting through tiny portions to get out of the room. She had been civil because she had been raised with integrity. She did not look at that woman. 

Jake was barely nice. He did not like strange people in his space, and he very much considered the dining room at Three Ponies to be his space. He did not do well with change and he did not want that woman in his home. Privately, Sam thought he was very attuned to energies in the environment, though when she broached the subject from time to time he looked down his nose at her and asked her if she'd been hanging out with Adam's mystical friends.

Then he would go on about the scientific process. Sam knew that was all for show. He believed in things he could not see. After all, he believed she was a decent person and it had been some time since he'd seen an example of that.

"Do I hear the murmuring of a teenage girl?" Max said, coming down the hall. "I did some clean wash..." She stopped short with more clean clothes, "I thought you were putting away your clothes."

"I was! I was!" Sam replied, looking around forlornly, "What do I do?" She looked all around, and flopped on her bed. "This is awful." The whole situation was awful. Sam was filled with remorse. She was going to have to make this work. Slowly, she realized that she should have stayed in the city. Right now, in the city, she would be listening to Mrs. Ziller's music through the walls and making silly faces at Jake when he started to hum.

"Says the girl with a wardrobe I would have killed for at 16." Max replied, picking up items as she moved. She dropped the pile onto the bed.

"You can have whatever." Sam replied, taking Max's hand and pulling up to sit. After months of work, her abs were still weak, especially when sitting on soft surfaces like her bed.

"Because these scream 'respectable mother'" Max laughed, holding up a pair of capris to her tiny waist.

"Max, don't tease." Sam pleaded, "I have school in the morning." She had to get back to River Bend, and try to figure all of this. There was so much to do here. She knew she just had to get settled.

Ella said it would be harder before it got easier, and Sam was starting to see what she meant. Thinking about Ella made her think about Aunt Sue, and Sam wasn't ready to face her guilt. Sue swore that she wasn't mad, but Sam knew better. Sam knew that any human would be angry as all get out. She did not want to think about that soft conversation.

"Yes, yes. You've sufficiently twisted my arm." Max said, opening drawers. "Go to the hall closet and get every laundry basket you can carry. Then, we'll sort things into piles." Sam pushed up to standing, and was halfway to the door, "Also, get the thrift bin. It's in Quinn's room." Sam paused to see Max holding her favorite ratty t-shirt.

She would give up a fussy dress or five to make room for that shirt and was relieved when Max put it down on the keep pile. Sam struggled with the baskets, which were bulky but light. Eventually, she settled on kicking them down the hall like a soccer ball so she wouldn't feel like she would fall when her arms were stuck out so far from her body when she held the baskets.

It was worth it, though, so she did what she had to do and got the baskets to her room, not bothering to mention the struggle it had been to reach the shelf or how she had to wipe sweat from her brow after an activity that Max probably assumed she could do without trouble. It wasn't an assumption she was willing to correct, nor did she protest when they decided to use an empty basket for the thrift collection in her room.

_I miss picnics and blue jeans and buckets of beer_

_Now it's ballet and symphony hall._

_I'm into culture, clean up to my ears;_

_It's like wearing a shoe that's too small._

_You Know Me Better than That_ , George Strait

Going through her clothes was hard physically, mentally, and emotionally. It was like there was two of her. There was the girl that Sam had used to be, the pear shaped cowgirl with ratty jeans and comfortable t-shirts that hid a stomach she had not exactly hated, but had not embraced either. Under the layer of fat had rested strong muscles, and a body that had been at the mercy of her whims. That girl was strong, efficient, and confident. She stuck her foot in her mouth, but she never questioned anything, not her place in the world, not her roles, not the things that mattered.

Sam couldn't fit in those clothes now, just like she could never be inside the head of that girl. She felt as though she was looking back on a far away time, a time she would give anything to back to. She felt absurdly attached to clothing that Max wanted to donate, privately hoping that she would wear that t-shirt again and feel exactly like she had the last time she'd worn it. Cleaning out her closet also made Sam keenly aware of how much time had passed, how the seasons had changed while she was gone. There was still winter clothing on the top of drawers, like it was still early spring outside. The process was painful and aching.

Then, there was this new girl in her closet that Sam didn't understand, one with tops from H&M near Union Square. This girl was thin and stuck out like a sore thumb. She was world wise and jaded, had lost the bloom of innocence and wonder. Gone was the wild child. In her place was a cautious, careful, woman. This girl's wardrobe was carefully selected, a mask, a facade, lacking the confidence of her former incarnation.

Previously, she hadn't needed clothes to feel good, but now, this Sam had to wear t-shirts with lower necklines because the collars itched, and she had to wear skirts and flats because of the wheelchair. This girl's wardrobe spoke of events like dinner parties, and events that would never be, events that required sundresses, silk, and pretty clothes that she never would have selected. It was a facade, no matter which item she looked at. Sam didn't even know she was. You were supposed to dress to display yourself, your personality, but Sam knew that she just wanted to hide in her past, hide in the clothes of the person she'd used to be, and wanted to be still, though they would never fit her again.

Sam tried to keep up. Max gave her no option other to than hold on and keep up as she took charge of Sam's wardrobe, dumping out drawers and folding and refolding items. Max organized and rehung, grouped and divided clothing so efficiently and with some much know-how that Sam's head spun. She felt sick when she saw how simple something she had struggled with for ages was for Max.

Sam made some comment to that effect as she handed Max's hangers, and Max smiled, "Sammy, I've cleaned out eight closets three times a year for nearly three decades. That's a lot of closets."

"I guess." Sam replied offhandedly. The room was quickly set to rights. Sam noticed that Max had vacuumed in here, and dusted. Sam was thankful to her for keeping her room clean. Finally, Sam looked at the one pile left on the bed, garment bags of clothing Max insisted she keep but had nowhere to store. "Where do I put those?"

With a smile, Max picked them up and left the room. Sam took the moment to look around, really take stock of what was going on right now. It felt like a knife in her gut. 

Sam felt her eyes fill with tears, as she saw the juxtaposition of the clothing left on her bed. She was not herself. She was someone else, some stranger.

Sam didn't realize that she was crying, that the noise in her ears were sobs as she held onto a ratty flannel shirt. The red color, the soft texture, represented everything she had lost. Her tears hit the fabric. The shirt was too big, made for someone she had once been but would never again, ever again, be. Never again would she wake up and throw on this shirt to race to the barn. 

Never again would it cover her as she raced across the range, as she carried bales. Never again would she be that girl, and she couldn't be the girl Sue wanted her to be. She just couldn't do it. Either way she was screwed, lost and alone. 

Sam did not see Max sit down next to her, but she felt the dip of the bed. Sam tried to stifle her tears, but that only made it worse. She could not tell Max how lost and alone she felt. There was nothing to say. 

Max didn't say anything, just held her as she cried into the soft cotton of the shirt Max had gotten three Mothers' Day's ago. 

 

_But sunset seems to leave you weary, alone_

_And wondering who you are_

_Don't deny that lonely feeling_

_That keeps stealing on you from deep down inside_

_Hey, can't you see that it's no good concealing_

_A feeling it hurts you to hide_

_Brighten my Night with Your Day_ , James Taylor

 

Jake came inside, covered in dust. He headed to the bathroom before Mom could sigh and point to the vacuum cleaner. The towels were there, so he made quick work of throwing his clothes into the hamper. After a quick shower, he reached into his closet for a shirt and pulled out a yellow sundress. Clearly, that wasn't his. Had he come into Sam's room?

Thankfully, he looked again and saw that Sam had made space for her extra clothing in his closet. He was fine with it, so long as he didn't accidentally wear her stuff. Jake dressed quickly and went to find Sam.

He found her standing on the porch, "Do I have a choice?" The light was fading around them, and he knew what she was asking. Jake stood behind her, and wrapped his arms around his waist. He'd never tell her, but he thought that she was the perfect height when she was barefoot.

She fit. They fit.

"Stay." He begged. There was space for her, here, and if she needed more, she had it, without question. It was a simple plea. She had a choice. Her choices would always be her own. He wanted nothing to change.

He wanted to be with her always. He knew it was foolish.

Ayers said that time would pass, and that it would be healthiest for them, one day, to try and be casual friends who spoke once a week and saw each other monthly. The idea that he wouldn't see the sunlight dancing across her pale skin and watch the wheels turn in Sam's mind made Jake sick. 

Ayers had said, "What do you think your life would be like, Jake, if that were to be?" 

Jake hadn't replied. His shift of weight had been enough of a tell.  _I think I would die. I would not let that happen. Neither of us would._

After a second, Jake demanded, "On what planet is it normal to see your friends once a month?" 

"The idea upsets you." Ayers pointed out. 

The query didn't even deserve a response. He gave one, after a moment, "Yes." 

"When's the last time you saw Darrell, Jake?" Ayers' soft question had left Jake in a quandary. The man wouldn't accept the blanket statement that their relationships were different. 

And somehow, Jake had come to some startlingly clear realizations. 

When Ayers made him talk about it, his gut reaction was to do anything to make the feeling go away. His reactions to the explorations were visceral and consuming. He did not want to lose her, did not want to face a day without her.

Standing on the porch, facing the waning day, Jake learned something new. 

He didn't want to face a day without her, that he knew, but Jake had never given the nights, the quiet shadow moments between them, the moments of sleep, enough significance. It was the nights that made the days worth getting up for, he realized.

Sam was silent. "I didn't think about this bit. I feel stupid and foolish. I just assumed..." Sam trailed off and Jake understood. She hadn't even questioned that they would be together.

Ella hadn't known about their sleeping arrangements, so she'd tried to help them imagine that their rooms were just father apart. It would have been a good technique, if they hadn't been sharing a bed. 

He had never been able to tell Ella that Sam was too far away if he couldn't feel her heart beat.

It was funny, the things they both forgot to question. "I want to stay with you."

Jake agreed. His parents wouldn't understand, and Wyatt the King of Hypocrites would have a fit. "We'll work it out, Sam."

"I don't know how." Sam said, and Jake didn't know either, so he didn't speak. "But I believe you." Jake was humbled and scared by the quiet trust she placed within his hands time and time again. He had promised Sam the sunrise, and she would have it.

But for now, he ran his fingers over the slim joints in her hand, and tried to enjoy the sunset, and forget all the moments that would pass before he stood just like this and watched the sunrise.

_Sing songs of the sunrise into the night, the stars as your timepiece make it all right._

_Make friends with the darkness, talk to the moon. When the light lifts, you can let out a tune._

_Sing songs of the sunrise into the night..._

_Cowboy's Delight_ , John Denver

Her room at home was hard to go into and that didn't even take into account getting up the steps. Dad had helped her up the stairs, watching her with something funny in her eyes. It had been hard enough to ask him for help. 

Her room was surreal. It was exactly as she had left it, from the apple core in the trash to the general mess of a busy week she had never been able to remember, let alone finish. How awful, to be confronted with the ability to slip into a past that no longer belonged to her.

She had to clean it, but she had no energy. The layer of dust was everywhere, and Sam crashed into cold sheets. Gram couldn't bring herself to touch her things, and Sam understood it.

She did not sleep. How could she? There was no one to hog the pillows, to soothe her aching muscles, and snore into her ear. There was no one to hold her tight, make her believe that she couldn't fall out of the bed no matter how hard she tried. There was no one to help her roll over. 

She did not cry because Jake wasn't there. She did not cry when her phone was silent and there were no boots on the stairs. She did not cry. 

Sam got out of her cold bed and stumbled to the window. She opened her window and stared out the window, wishing she could drive. The heat in her room was unbearable. It was cloying and hot. 

The night was the longest of her life. She never realized how much time she wasted by sleeping. She tried to be positive about being alone, but it was the hardest experience of her life. She knew what it was to not be lonely, and she wanted that back.

The next morning, well, by three a.m., Sam had gone to the bathroom for something to do seven times and had cleaned her desk off, and tried to tidy the mess and ignore the memories encased in every discarded sock she found. She had organized the drawers, and had fixed up the top, fighting tears as she realized that the girl who had lived so easily in this room was never coming back.

She had pushed away tears, then, when she had found her FFA jacket on the doorknob of her closet. She had curved her fingers over the blue corduroy, over the corn yellow letters that said, "Nevada" and "Darton." Her jacket, she had believed would tell her who she was. After all, your FFA jacket told you who you were, where you were from. When she turned it over, and read, "Samantha" in the small yellow letters, with her most current position, something inside of her broke in two. 

Who was Samantha? Who was this girl? Her jacket refused to tell her where she was going. Not even her FFA jacket, with its weight that made her freeze in the  winter and roast in the summer, could give her this. Sam tucked the jacket away in her closet, unable to do anything else. 

She was putting away her past, tucking away a life she had taken for granted. She felt like her soul was being crushed under the weight and the responsibility and the reality of these moments. Her quilt hurt as the seams pressed fussily against her skin through the top sheet, and Sam balled it up quickly and stared at the wall, tears she wouldn't allow herself to cry.

Before six, when her alarm went off, Sam had been dressed for ages, because it had taken so long.

She was so stressed. She missed Regina. Getting dressed completely by herself made her sweat. She felt sticky and unglued, haphazard. She had not slept. After another agonizing twenty minutes, she decided to go downstairs.

Sam almost fell down the stairs, tripping over her foot and knocking her shin into the wall. The dog was trying to break her fall. He nearly barked as she pulled herself to standing, "Don't snitch, Blaise."

She felt trapped in the past, without a present, and terrified of the future. She carefully made her way down the stairs, and tried to remember having the guts to haul ice up the steps. The cat mewled for food, and Sam tried to feed him. The food bowl spilled because she was wobbly, though the cat quickly ate the few bits of kibble that went on the floor.

Sam was thankful for small mercies.

The screen door opened, and Sam looked up from starting the coffee for Gram to see Jake standing there. His eyes were just as tired as Sam felt, and there was unity in that tiny realization.

Pushing the button on the machine, Sam smiled softly, "Hey..."

"Dad figured me out." Jake said softly, and Sam understood why he hadn't come.

Sam knew without question that he had tried. She could have tried, too, she knew. Keeping them together wasn't solely his job. She didn't need an explanation, but she was glad to have one. At 12:54, she'd found his phone charger in her bags, so she'd figured out why he couldn't call or return her texts.

"Your charger is in my bag." Sam said, with a yawn.

Jake didn't move.

Sam looked at him, some kind of jittery awareness blooming within her. She'd had no idea what to wear. She'd settled on a printed tunic that hid some of her body and functional jean skirt. It was kind of like jeans but wouldn't have seam issues as her skin was really bugging her. She couldn't seem to reset.

He continued to look at her, and Sam smiled, "What?"

Jake just stared for another moment, something electric in his eyes, "The sun's coming up."

Sam nodded and followed Jake out onto the porch.

Slowly, the sky grew lighter and lighter. The world came alive again. The birds whooped joyfully and the bugs seemed to wake up in new ways. Sam felt the sky heat as they stood together. All around them, the world came alive.

Pepper bounded to the barn with a cheerful wave as Gram's cooking filled the air all around them. Sam was so glad to see him. She was so wrapped up in Jake that she figured they would talk later. The sky grew brighter and brighter.

It was a new day.

_The bluest skies don't seem so blue_   
_And the stars seem to be a little dimmer, too_   
_Now that you're around, you put 'em all to shame_   
_Let me break it down 'cause what I'm tryin' to say is_

_I didn't have a clue_

_I've never found anything that makes me feel like I do about you_

_You_ , Chris Young

The door opened with a creak behind them. Sam didn't bother to move. Jake could handle this, and she could relax. Being without him meant that she was on guard all of the time. It was amazing. She had slept alone for sixteen years, and after a few weeks with him in her space, her small twin bed felt empty.

She could not settle down to sleep without a last tiny conversation and a hug, or even the simple reassurance of hearing Jake breathe next to her. She had spent all night staring at the bear on her wrist.

Dad said, "All ready for chores, then, Sammy?" He sounded excited, if guarded.

Sam had given up on the idea of really talking to him about her feelings. He took in her clothes. "Oh."

"I'm good." Sam asserted. This was the only way she was going to get her life back, to go on as normal. Just because she had no clue what normal was, didn't mean she couldn't try to fake it. Stealing a glance at Jake, she nodded imperceptibly, "I should go."

"I, uh, thought maybe Jake would see that you get on alright." Dad said, standing there, looking between them hopefully.

How could he assume that Jake would do work here, after everything that had gone down between them? How could Dad be so hopeful about something he didn't understand? Maybe his lack of understanding, his lack of reality, gave him hope. Sam wished they could all be so lucky.

"He doesn't work here, Dad, remember?" Sam said archly. Jake was still next to her. Without question, she knew that he would help her if she asked him for it. Dad did not enter into it, nor did the job. Dad needed to understand that, though.

Dad tried to save face, "I'm sure J.J would keep an eye out. Dal and I have to go to see Trudy, so Pepper's out today."

"No!" Sam exclaimed. "I mean, I'm fine. Fine." She was fine. She did not need help, and she most certainly did not J.J.'s help. She did not need a keeper. She did not need her replacement thrown in her face?

Why should she take help from some random stranger? Help like that took away her autonomy and her control, and Sam was desperate to keep some shred of control. She walked away without a backward glance, fleeting aching and pride stinging.

_Now here's the sun, come to dry the rain_

_Warm my shoulders and relieve my pain_

_You're the one thing that I'm missing here_

_With you beside me I no longer fear_

_I'd Rather be with You_ , Joshua Radin

Jake watched Sam as he turned on the radio. Tom Petty filled the room, and Jake knew that this moment was something he'd been waiting for. It didn't matter what had just happened, or what would happen soon.

They were together, in the moment. Jake just watched. This was a gift. This was the answer to a prayer he hadn't had the words to pray.

She hadn't asked for help and she knew what she was doing. He had to go about his business, he knew. Instead, he just watched her get the barn ready for the day. Pepper had already started, but Sam was taking care of the little chores nobody seemed to take as much pride in as she did.

Her movements were no different from days past, but here, in this barn, they seemed surer, somehow, more fluid, more Sam-like. She was getting lost in the sameness that she had found again.

"I'm scared..." Her words were matter of fact.

"I know." Jake knew that she was scared of walking onto that school. He knew that nothing was going to be the same, that nothing would ever be, that the other students would not know that Sam was the same person, would see the chair and nothing more. He knew that they would not know how to behave, and that Sam would go through her day trying to make them see something she herself could not yet believe. "Want a ride?"

Sam shook her head, "I mean to start as I plan to go on." Jake realized that Sam meant it, meant that she planned to act as normally as possible.

She finished up her chore, and only left when she discovered that Pepper and J.J. had done the rest of her customary work. He saw the flash of realization crest in her eyes. He hated that look in her eyes. There was nothing left to do, but she was very needed, despite the words that danced across her face.

As she looked around for something to do, Sam sighed, her feelings clearly unsettled, "Well, let's go see the horses." Jake was again glad for the horses. They might not need her, Jake realized, but they wanted Sam in a way that not even Pepper or J.J. could replace.

She was irreplaceable, and no amount of completed chores could ever make that any different.

_Well I won't back down, no I won't back down_

_You could stand me up at the gates of hell_

_But I won't back down_

_Gonna stand my ground, won't be turned around_

_And I'll keep this world from draggin' me down_

_Gonna stand my ground and I won't back down_

_I Won't Back Down_ , Tom Petty

"Jen." Sam was ashen from the nerves and the hell that was the bus ride. She nearly threw up just thinking about it as she stood on the pavement. She wanted to kneel down and kiss it, except that she wouldn't get up again. 

She felt like she was going to fall after all of that jostling. "Would you...?"

Without having to finish, Jen slid her arm under Sam's, jauntily lacing them together. Together, they got up the three steps. They were early, and because their bus had to come farther out.

Sam could not stand being at River Bend one more second, not even with Jake there. He was uneasy because she'd refused to take the chair. Walking up to the front door of the school, Sam wished she had. She knew that the chair was a tool, but pride had reared its ugly head, and she did not want to have to deal with speculation that she couldn't walk.

Walking for most people was so binary. They thought you could, or you couldn't. It bordered on ridiculous. There were shades of walking, such as the hesitant stride that was compensating for her already aching feet and tired back. Tomorrow, she was going to bring her messenger bag. Her Jansport was light, but its presence on her back was pushing her ever so slightly forward, making her feel unbalanced. Sam wondered how she would get it home with things in it.

Sam let go of Jen, pushed open the door, and stepped into the throng. This was the moment. The noise was unfathomable, and Sam almost winced. Blessedly, after a second, silence fell.

Whispers flew.

The silence was not blessed. She was the center of attention. All she wanted was to be invisible, but that wasn't happening. She could feel them staring as she faltered, feel Jen tense and then relax.

"Hey, Milligan." Jen said pointedly. Joey Milligan blushed and looked away. Joey Milligan never blushed, and he never looked at her. There had never been anything to notice before.

Sam's stomach grew tight. Joey Milligan was staring, but it was not something she relished, nor had she ever. She was the girl with hay in her hair, and older brothers, and the tendency to stick her foot in her mouth. Joey was in FFA, so she knew him, but it was not the knowing gaze of a friend. 

Sam could not do this, but she pressed on, ignoring the silence, the whispers, the hum of the fans, as she made her way to her locker. She was conscious of every movement she made, of every person tracking her with their eyes.

She almost wished her locker was near Darrell's. At least he wouldn't be a freak about this. People said she was abnormal now, but she didn't make other people feel like a bug under a microscope.

Jen's locker was in front of Max's room. They came to their customary division point by the posters.

Sam nodded, "See you later, Jen!" Jen understood that Sam was going for normalcy.

She didn't need Jen to walk with her, didn't need Jen to make sure she was okay.

She was fine.

Jen smiled and walked off, as though this were a normal Monday. Sam had no idea what this was. She looked at her locker. The lock was the same as it was every year. 16-36-22.

Sam spun the lock as she always did, three times to the right, lining up the sixteen. She tried to drown out the noise and the jostling as another busload of people filled the hall on their way to their own lockers. The sensations coursing over her body was insane.

She dropped the Jansport to her side so to gain some balance. Maybe the straps were making her feel that funny prickle across her shoulders. She lined up the sixteen as the loudspeaker clicked on, and began to drone on about a new school year.

She put her right hand flat on the locker in front of her, focusing on the cool metal as she hurriedly twisted the 36 and the 22, almost skipping the second full turn. She yanked on the shackle nothing happened. Then she remembered that her lock was awful and she had to fiddle with her lock sometimes.

The lock went skittering across the floor. It clattered to a stop in the hall, the clang of the metal echoing in her mind.

Sam turned around to grab it, wondering how she was going to bend over, only to have it pressed into her hand by none other than Daisy. "Uh. Thanks." Sam didn't know what to say. Daisy's locker was behind hers, but they ignored each other.

It was their way of getting along. They weren't friends, and they didn't like each other, but they were civil in the small space. They had not always been tolerant, but maturing had changed them both in enough ways to ignore each other. Rachel's leaving, Sam thought, had made it easier. 

Daisy nodded, "Don't think we're friends, but you can sit with me, if you want. At lunch." Everyone knew that Sam and Jen had separate lunches, though Sam was confident that their schedules might line up this year, finally.

"Daisy, I've got...uh..." Sam was not prepared for this.

Daisy was wearing the blue dress. The. Blue. Dress. 

The one from the store that Aunt Sue had nearly insisted upon before Sam had spilled her guts in the dressing room. Daisy was wearing the dress and it knocked Sam through a loop. Was she like Daisy now, because she had dresses like hers?

"Whatever." Daisy said, with a friendly roll of her eyes. Sam assumed she just did that as a matter of course.

She looked at Sam's outfit. Was that admiration on her face, or interest? Daisy looked bored half of the time, so it was hard to know. "Where'd you get the top?"

Sam rattled off the store, and watched, dumbfounded, as Daisy nodded and walked away. The noise that swelled around her in the seconds after that shook her to her core. She was in the twilight zone. She was talking about clothes with Daisy.

 _Good Lord_ , Sam thought, _I'm toast._

_Now that I've chosen to become a pal, a sister, and adviser_

_There's nobody wiser_

_Not when it comes to popular -_

_I know about popular_

_And with an assist from me to be who you'll be_

_Instead of dreary who-you-were—well are!_

_There's nothing that can stop you_

_From becoming popular - lar_

_Popular,_  Wicked

Thankfully, the first day of school was easy. Sam was challenged enough as it was. She had but two classes with Jen, and one with Ally. Darrell was in one of her classes, as well as her lunch. She was an "A" this year. Jen was "B" while Ally was a "B" and Darrell, funnily enough, was a "A." The school did not operate on class standings much, rather breaking down lunches and rotations by blocks, identified by letters.

Her senses were going haywire. She needed to adjust to being around so many people, in this setting again. People looked, stared, spoke at her, but didn't speak to her. 

She was physically taxed by fourth period. The plastic chairs hurt. She could only shift around so much before it got strange. People wouldn't stop looking at her, and they made a special effort to pass her things. It was odd.

The teachers for the most part were normal, except for Sra. Hernandez, who tsk'd sympathetically when not a bit of Spanish came out. She used Sam as an example of why she had her brush up unit.

Sam felt better when Spanish was finally over. The information was still there, it had just been buried under the mental processes of trying to sit up straight and keep blinking.

Sam found that she spent so much time thinking about background activities of living, like making sure to relax and breathe, so much time modulating her senses, that it took time to dig up some academic stuff.

School was not her biggest challenge.

By 2:45, she was staring the face of her biggest fear. The yellow beast gave a great snort and shudder. Sam was afraid, though she did not show it. Jen had a Mathletes meeting, so she was riding the bus solo.

Sam was forced to touch the icky handlebar to yank herself up the stairs. She dropped into the first seat and dug her heels. Mrs. Saltino, the bus driver, smiled and lit her cigarette. She was not supposed to smoke, but it was an open secret that she did. Sam inhaled once and coughed, leaning against the glass window as the bus started out with a lurch.

At the first turn, Sam felt her stomach lurch and slammed her eyes shut as she felt herself fall. After a second of feeling like she was falling but having not hit the floorboard, Sam opened her eyes and found that she was still on the bench.

Her arm was strained from holding on and her mind was racing. She was going to scream. The bus was so awful. Every time it moved, she felt herself going haywire. It was a special kind of hell on wheels.

She tried to borrow one of Jake's grounding tools. Listening to the creak of the bus, the yelling of the students behind her, and the puff puff of Mrs. Saltino on the cigarette made it worse. Feeling the sensations of falling and shock that came when they bumped their way along in a way that seemed reckless was terrifying.

She was going to die. This was horrible. She needed to get away. She was barely able to breathe as fight or flight kicked in.

Sam made up her mind when she saw the stop for Three Ponies. She was going to fall over dead at any second in this death trap. Sam tapped Mrs. Saltino on the shoulder and made a garbled plea for her to let her off. The good woman made an unscheduled stop. She would do that for Sam sometimes. How everyone could seem so at ease when Sam got off the bus was amazing to her.

She was shaken up, and praised God that she was alive. As the bus pulled away, Sam praised God that she was on solid ground. The world spun around her like she was still on the bus, the heat surrounding her and making her feel weak. Sam saw the colors of the world spin around her as her mouth filled with saliva. 

Sam did not feel centered again until she stood at the end of the driveway and dry heaved until she coughed and coughed. There was nothing in her stomach to throw up. She had been too physically and mentally on edge to actually eat.

Her heaves turned to sobs after a time. After all of this, the dam broke. She cried for her red shirt, the party dresses, her FFA jacket, for the blue dress, for the tunic she now wore. 

There had been ups and downs to the day, Sam knew rationally. Later, she would have to analyze them. For now, though, Sam was in the moment, reliving how much of a challenge the day had been. She had fought for every second of equilibrium she'd achieved, and she knew she had been in her own personal definition of hell. It was overwhelming and nothing at all like she'd remembered.

The school hadn't changed. She had. She had changed. This wasn't even about the bus ride from hell. The bus had been merely the straw that broke the camels' back. Her mind and body were in chaos and had been all day. She had started as she meant to go on, and no matter how tough it was, she had to keep going. Sam dry heaved again and blew her nose on the edge of her tunic, mopping her sweat and tear soaked face with her shirt.

It was time to smile, and do the only thing she was good at, anymore: put on a brave face and lie, even to herself.

_Taught her a lesson that she learned_

_Maybe a little too well_

_Cowgirls don't cry_

_Lessons in life are going to show you in time_

_Soon enough your gonna know why_

_It's gonna hurt every now and then_

_If you fall get back on again_

_Cowgirls don't cry_

_Cowgirls Don't Cry_ , Brooks & Dunn ft. Reba McEntire

Sam lied through her teeth about her day, and the fact that she did lie with her a smile on her face told him all he needed to know.

Jake let her do it. It seemed important for them all to think that school was fine. 

She refused dinner, saying that she had so much homework. Jake glared at Mom for actually assigning stuff on the first day, but Jake did not grow concerned until Sam had been sitting at the table for hours, slogging through work.

Jake made Sam tea that she did not touch. She was lost in her mind, it seemed, in a place not even he could reach. Sam looked up with a gasp after nine, and cried, "My chores!" The kitchen was bathed in lamplight that had clearly just cut across Sam's vision.

Quinn was in the den, playing his Xbox. Dad and Mom were off someplace, probably in the barn, looking over the books. It was Monday, and Mom was going grocery shopping tomorrow. The money had to be in order before she could do that.

Jake looked up from his novel, and shook his head, "They're done."

"I can do my chores." Sam asserted, looking around the kitchen as if she had never seen it before. "What...?" She broke off and swallowed, "What time is it?" She seemed bewildered, lost and confused.

"9:47, Sam." Jake replied, growing concerned about her mental awareness. He knew he was wrong to leave her alone for so long, but he hadn't wanted to disturb her. Selfishly, he thought that if he could get her to stay late enough, there would be no reason for her to leave for River Bend. Mom could smooth it over with Wyatt. What parent would want her to come out after working all night? Wyatt hadn't been pleased that she was working, but whatever had gone down had not included Jake, so he frankly did not care. Sam was here, and he wasn't going to question it.

"Nine..." She trailed off. There was a look of horror on her face. "But it never takes me..." She yawned and tears filled her eyes. Jake was out of his depths. She was working too hard, pushing not only her body, but only her mind.

Medically, she wasn't supposed to be doing this much schoolwork. They both knew she wasn't cleared for these kinds of efforts. There was a bald desperation clear on her face. She gestured lamely to the stack of remaining things before her. Junior year was tough, Jake remembered, and her course load was not for a slouch.

"Whatever you didn't get to will be there in the morning, Sam." Jake hated feeling like he was putting his foot down, but one more second of silence and the sound of her pencil and he was going to do something rash. She was so tense. "Are you hungry?"

"I have to finish this environmental science chapter." Sam redirected, "Go on up to bed." She yawned and looked down at the page, dismissing him.

"Jesus, Sam." Jake said, in frustration. She needed to be reasonable. There wouldn't be a real quiz. The guy just wanted to know what she remembered from other classes.

"You have a choice here. You can finish that chapter while you eat, or you can put the damn thing away now, and be reasonable and go to bed after you eat and finish the chapter in the morning." He tried to calm down and be fair, "I suggest you make it fast." Jake knew that fear was driving his anger, but understanding his motivations didn't really help him to change his actions.

Sam slammed the book shut. "Happy?" There was a mulish glare on her face, one that wasn't diminished by the strain and exhaustion on her face. Jake grinned. He couldn't help it. Sam sighed, "God, you're an idiot. You're thrilled." He turned back to the microwave and pulled the plastic wrap back a bit to heat her plate. "Guess I'll just stay stupid if it makes you so happy."

Jake didn't deny it, or at least the first part. That last bit was just dramatics. She would never be stupid.

Sam pushed up from the end of the bench and walked over to the sink. "Today was hard. Really hard."

Jake stopped fiddling with the microwave and looked at Sam's slight frame as she gripped the sink tightly. "A ton of pain just hit me like a load of bricks. I think I'll throw up if I eat." After a second of the microwave buzzing, she snapped, "Would you shut that off before it makes us all insane?"

Jake stopped the microwave. Kyla had warned them that this would be a painful transition. Ella had done the same. Ayers had even thrown his hat in the ring. "What did you eat today?"

Jake didn't press Sam for an answer when she replied, "I've got to start as I mean to go on. I'll adjust." It was worse than he thought.

Jake did the only thing he could and pulled out the peanut butter. Siger did his peanut butter dance. Sam laughed, even as his paws clattered along the wooden floors, and ate half of her sandwich. There was a renewal to her smile as she stacked her books and headed upstairs. Jake had hope for the future. The first day was always the hardest, after all.

_If you're goin' through hell keep on going_

_Don't slow down if you're scared don't show it_

_You might get out before the devil even knows you're there_

_When you're goin' through hell keep on movin'_

_Face that fire walk right through it_

_If You're Going Through Hell,_  Rodney Atkins

By lunchtime Wednesday, Sam was dragging. She had hardly slept all week, save that one night at Three Ponies, and even then, the pain and sheer exhaustion had kept her awake.

Gram was worried, that was clear, but Sam was crafty enough to try and sleep. She tried, and so when Gram peaked in, she saw a body in a bed, and that was enough to satisfy her.

Her senses were in over drive. Her hands were shaking and pale as she fumbled with the brown bag that contained her lunch. Sam felt vomit roll within her as another girl laughed loudly, the shrill tones echoing in the noisy room.

She could not go through the hell of sitting in the lunchroom again. Sam moved as quickly as possible towards the library. It would be quiet there, and she could rest. She was so tired. Food seemed totally immaterial to her survival at this point.

Sam tucked her bag messenger close to her body and counted the steps. By the time she got to a wooden chair in the quiet, cool, space, she had counted to 127, and her lungs felt like they were going to explode with the efforts of holding back tears.

Ella had never told her this would be so hard. It was so hard. She could not relax. Before the accident, none of this would have phased her, but now... Now everything felt so differently, and because it felt that way, it was different. School was no longer a small challenge. This was awful.

It didn't help that she wasn't sleeping, or eating well.

Yesterday, she had gotten home, off that rattletrap of a bus and worked on her homework until it felt like her eyes were going to fall out. She just couldn't keep up anymore. She was sacrificing everything to spend at least a little bit of time in the barn.

Dad looked pleased that she was cutting out on meals to see her horses. She'd begged, saying that it was the only time she could call her own with schoolwork. Gram was not so easily won over. She thought that Dad was giving Sam her way because he felt guilty or something.

Sam ignored it all. She did not have the energy to fight. Ally gently poked her in the shoulder, and Sam sat up straighter as Mr. Williams droned on and on. The math blurred in front of her eyes, and her notebook read like gibberish.

_I can't tell you what it really is_

_I can only tell you what it feels like_

_And right now there's a steel knife in my windpipe_

_I can't breathe but I still fight while I can fight_

_As long as the wrong feels right it's like I'm in flight_

_Love the Way You Lie_ , Eminem ft. Rihanna

Being so confused in math class bit her in the behind a few hours later. She hadn't been able to bum a ride home from Darrell, and so she'd gotten off the bus the first chance she got before she cried and made a fool of herself.

At least this time she did not heave, although she did feel like she was going to fall over from walking up the driveway.

Therapy started next week and Sam had no idea where she was going to get the energy for that. Even walking through the halls to get to the bathroom at school consumed all of her attention and energy.

Sam fumbled with third step of the problem. 7 + 5. That was it. That's all it was. 7+5. Her mind was revolting. She could not come up with the answer, and she had to do it herself. The smell from the untouched plate next to her turned her stomach. "Sam..." Jake cut in from the doorway, "It's late."

"I am aware." She bit out, and looked back at her notebook. Seven. Eight. Sam's pencil lead snapped and broke her train of thought. She pushed down on the top of the pencil with force, hating the feeling of the white eraser against her skin.

Jake scraped the uneaten food into the garbage. She knew without looking up that he was judging her for not eating. She could feel his censure, thick and heavy. She just didn't have the time. There was so much homework.

"You've been sitting there for hours." Jake said, stacking books she'd left on the table. Thunk. Thunk. He shuffled papers, and shoved her science homework into the pages of the book. Her fingers tingled from the eraser's texture. She wiped her fingers against her skirt.

Sam did not bother to look up. Seven. Eight. Ni-... A book thunked heavily, and Sam winced.

Sam looked up, "I have work to do." There was no emotion in her words. She hoped he got the message. Her math homework had to be done so she could get to the other stuff. The notebook in front of her had to be her focus. 7+5. Seven. Eight.

"How many more problems do you have?" Jake asked, sitting down next to her, the scrape of the chair against the flooring was washed away by the feeling of his nearness.

Sam knew that she had to get him to go away so that she could work, but she just didn't have it in her to ask him to leave. It had been days since she'd been able been able to just hug him. She really wanted a hug, really wanted just to be held for a little while. It seemed so pathetic, but it was what it was. Her senses were haywire, and he was the only person that helped. The part of her mind that was centered on him lit up as nerve endings fired and her brain reacted to their interaction and his closeness.

"It's my work." She snapped, "Mine." She made a mark with her pencil, to make herself seem focused, and to become focused.

Seven. Eight. She had to get this problem done so that she could figure out how to get all of this done and convince Jake to stay up late just so she could relax, and maybe sleep. The addition was one tiny step of a larger problem, but she had to get through the tiny part. It felt insurmountable.

"Number 42 is wrong, Sam." Jake inserted, taking up a pencil and lightly marking the problem in the book. Stealing glances at her work, he quickly marked every last problem she'd spent the last two hours slogging through.

The buzzing of the light above their heads made her blink. Jake was so near and all Sam really wanted to do was shut her eyes and burrow into the crook of his neck, feel the comforting reassurance of his measured breathing as he acted as her lodestone.

Seven. Eight. Nine. "No it's not." She corrected, looking at the problem. She was never going to get that problem anyhow. She threw caution and reason to the wind and looked at Jake. She was so unglued that just focusing on him was a comfort to her frazzled self. The tension in her muscles relaxed in anticipation of what her soul cried out for.

Sam saw concern etched into his face as he looked at her. There was too much space between them. Sam knew her brain was clicking too slowly. She was trying not to be angry at life right now. Jake looked at her quizzically, "What's 12^2?"

Sam looked down at the paper "It's not that, is it?" She snapped. Of course it wasn't. Wasn't that just her luck? 42 had been the one thing she had been nearly sure of in this problem set. It seemed she had messed up the easiest bit.

"No." Jake said factually. "See, what we do..." He started outline principles of math that she already knew, or was supposed to recall. Who forgot how to square? Who forgot to add? Why did thinking about numbers hurt?

Jake just kept talking. He was moving too fast. She was completely screwed if the one person who knew her best was completely outpacing her in every way that mattered. Anger built within her.

Sam couldn't take any more, "I don't know what seven plus five is, Jake! What the hell makes you think I remember how to square something? On what planet would that even be rational thought?" Sam's voice rose in frustration and anger, "Let's throw the brain damaged chick into pre-calc, why don't we? Let's just torture her, so that when she can't even add, we can all giggle about how stupid she is, yeah?"

"Nobody's laughing, Sam." Jake replied, cautiously. Sam was shaking with effort it took to calm down. She knew she was raging. She knew, and she knew that this had nothing to do with Jake, but she was angry at him, angry that it was supposed to be so easy, that he was so far ahead of her in this, too. She was not herself anymore and the past few days proved that any hope she had of being her again was mere illusion.

"I need you to go away, because I need to figure out what seven plus five is, but my mind won't go past ten." Tears of anger sprang to her eyes, as she screamed, "It just won't go! It went yesterday, but it just won't!" Sam lost track of herself then, lost track of her words.

They got louder, she knew. She knew she was screaming and sobbing, yelling about numbers and letters and math and her mind and the pain, the pain, the pain, screaming unintelligibly.

It was always like this. She should have known better than to think that this would work out. The pencil cup shattered on the floor as it ricocheted against the stove. She hated this, hated that she would scream and cry in frustration and anger over the stupidest things. They made no sense.

"Just go!" She screamed, "Why won't you just go?" Sam didn't know if she was screaming at Jake to leave or for her mind to work. Desperate to get away, Sam pushed to her feet, knocking books over the edge of the table.

Jake didn't go. The books scatted across the floor as he pulled the table away from her. The cutlery from her uneaten dinner scattered across the floor and chairs toppled over. His voice was calm, a bulwark in the storm, "You're okay, Sam. Just breathe."

She was shaking with fury, voice horse. "I can't figure it out!" She thought she was beyond this, beyond the fits of rage and pain, "I hate this! I hate this!" She repeated her litany over and over and over. "I can't add!" Sam looked at the shattered mug on the floor and turned towards the living room.

Jake was right behind her. Couldn't he see that she was drowning? Couldn't he just leave? She didn't want him to do it, but he had to be better than she was weak, and he had to be the one to be stronger.

Sam curled up into the couch and cried. The light went out quickly, plunging her into darkness. Her eyes no longer hurt from too much light. Before the first sob left her mouth, she was being held. "Sam..." 

She dug her nails into Jake's shirt, pulled him closer with the same intensity that she had just been pushing him away. Her heart was thundering under her skin and her tears were hot against her red face.

She was out of control and she knew it. Her knees were probably digging into Jake as she sobbed, but he didn't move. He only pushed her hair away from her tear-stained face and listened, murmuring the same things he always did. Jake's arms were still around her when her sobs turned to hiccups, "I can't add."

_Sailors sail, cowboys ride_

_Lovers love when they get the chance_

_Take it slow, turn down the light_

_Soft and low, let the shadows dance_

_Baby don't hold back_

_Hold me like you'll never let me go_

_Hit me with your heart_

_Til the morning light_

_Let your skin talk to my soul_

_Kiss Me in the Dark,_  The Randy Rogers Band

The deep pressure of his hug surrounded her, and in the darkness of the living room, Sam relaxed into the touch. He was whispering things into her hair, as her heart rate slowed. Her pressure points were encompassed somehow. Jake was holding her, keeping her safe, pressing her body back into its space. 

Sam took stock of the situation. She felt like a rubber band with no tensity. She didn't know where her limbs were. She knew where Jake's hands were, though, and they  were pressing her gently, holding her in the best of ways. This wasn't a matching moment. This was a moment of heavy intensity of another kind. 

It wasn't enough. Her clothes hurt. Sam reached between them with fumbling fingers and tried to pull down the zipper of her hoodie. The metal hurt her fingers. In  the darkness, Sam said, "Please." 

Jake knew, and then, with a gentle, concerted, assistance, her hoodie was gone. Sam was glad her bra was long gone. She pushed her hands under Jake's shirt in the back, felt the warmth of his skin, the sinew of his muscles, the softness of his skin. 

Sam sighed, and put her head on Jake's shoulder as she decided to get as close as she could, pulling herself into his lap. This was all about sensation, about some kind of elemental need she didn't care to define. 

Jake spoke then, "You're okay." 

"Not yet." Sam whispered. _Don't leave me._ The buttons on his shirt hurt her, but she didn't care. She didn't care. "I need you." 

There was a raw intensity in the touch they shared that Sam found grounding. "You have me."

Slowly, she found her way back to herself. Her lips were resting on his neck, feeling his pulse. 

"You should leave." More tears dripped out of her eyes, dripping onto him. He should leave. Her throat was raw, "I'm sorry." She picked up her head, and looked into the kitchen.

Remorse bled into every word, "God, I'm sorry. I hurt you, didn't I?" Finding the words was a tax on her brain, but she had to do it. The room was a mess. The table was out of center, the chairs were knocked over and there was shattered mug and pencils all over the floor. It was easy to assume that it had finally happened this time, even though her detailed memory was fuzzy.

Jake didn't stop rubbing her back as he asked, "Why do you always assume..." The room was dark but Sam knew exactly where she was, and exactly where he was, and could see a sliver of the kitchen through the only light filtering into the room through a slight crack in between the door and the doorjamb.

Their breathing was harsh. Well, hers was. Jake was breathing easily, modeling the kind of inhalations she was supposed to be doing. Sam wondered if he did that consciously. The air they shared was heated.

Self-recrimination ripped through her as she cut him off. "Because I can't control it! I can't!" He didn't get it, but she couldn't control it well. She couldn't, and one day, she was going to hurt him. She wouldn't mean it, would never do it intentionally, but what if the mug had hit him and not the stove? What if he tried to help her and she ended up hurting him? She would not be able to live with herself.

"You can." Jake corrected her with a soothing tone. Jake shook his head, the movement registering on every particle of her heart in the darkness, "You can and you did." Sam put her bead down again, placed her cheek in the groove in his shoulder that seemed to be just for her. This was the spot she never wanted to leave. She just wanted to stay here forever, know that whatever she was was enough for herself, and for him, too.

Jake's breathing was even, and every ounce of exhaustion welled up in Sam, "You left the room. You walked away." Jake promised her, an insistent quality to his confident words, "You said 'go.' I didn't, Sam. I never will, and that's on me."

Sam tightened the grip she had around him, and Jake responded in kind. The deep pressure of his hug was reassuring in the face of internal chaos as her mind resorted itself.

She wished she could explain the process going on inside of her body. It was as though she was right on the edge of exploding, having just done so. Every touch, every movement, made her sensitive body react. It was crazy, but Jake was the only person she could stand right now.

Crazy thoughts about touch and sight and smell and sound were rushing around in her mind, all related to the now, the moment, and to Jake. She felt his carotid pulse next to the chapped skin of her lips, felt it thud comfortably under her exhalations. In reaction to pure want, pure need, she burrowed closer, feeling the texture of their clothing, of his skin against her cheek where his collar met his flesh.

Sam could not see it, but she felt the tiny scar he had on his neck from where he'd gotten a cut from a home buzz cut as a kid. He'd cried for days, though he'd never admit it now.

Sam frowned, and Sam knew that Jake felt the action against his neck. He didn't stop touching her and Sam couldn't bring herself to tell him for the hundredth time that she was responsible for her actions, even if she did not mean them, and he had to take care of himself.

He needed to hear that, needed to understand that hurting him when she went into a rage was her worst nightmare. She had nightmares about it sometimes, and knew that she would tonight, for certain. Sleep was suddenly less likely than Dad actually behaving rationally.

It was the first time she'd been touched in days that didn't feel anything like agony. How something could be so pleasurable after so much pain simply illustrated how messed up her brain was. Her body was pain-free, and for her, this was as close to pleasure as she would ever come. 

"I have to go clean up the mug." Sam tried not shudder.

Jake's fingers skated over her spine, lingering over every painful spot, possessing every bit of the tension and turning it into some kind of comfort. The muscles in her back were tight and aching. Her muscle tone was all messed up.

Now, when she cried, her whole body hurt after, and only relaxed when Jake held her, when he told her that he understood. Sam relaxed into the touch. He knew what he was doing. The scrape of the calluses on his hands led a trail of electricity over her skin.

Sam shifted, leaning more into the touch, touching back, in every way she could.

Jake grinned, smug and self-satisfied. Sam didn't move away.  _Like that, huh?_

Sam whimpered, honest to God, whimpered.  _God, yes._

They were a tangle of limbs when Jake broke the silence that had been filled with the sound of their breathing. "When's the last time you slept?" The room was dark, and Sam was warm.

Sam considered the bit of sunburn of Jake's forearm. She couldn't see it, but she felt the shift in the texture of his skin. She wondered when he'd picked that up, and wished that she had been there with him when he had.

She spoke without thinking. "The night before we came home." She hadn't meant to tell him that. She had sat up in the center of her bed when she was alone, and tried to feel okay. He couldn't stay, they knew this. They'd agreed.

Jake's eyes focused on hers, bright in the dark. She couldn't look away, not that there was anywhere else to look. Because of where she was sitting, and how she was wrapped around Jake, he filled her entire field of vision. His scent and presence surrounded her fully.

"You aren't sleeping, and you don't have time to eat." Jake put pieces together quickly, basing his assessment on what he could see and what she had told him.

She hadn't said much, but he knew. He always knew. Sam just wished he could be with her there, and understand what she saw and experienced every day.

She tried to talk to Jen, but it just made no sense. Jen tried to be supportive, but she was so grounded in fact that Sam didn't want to burden her with her insights and her perceptions. Sam was just tired of being the only one who saw what she saw and felt what she felt. It was incredibly isolating at school.

Being around all of her so-called peers just made her feel more alone. She couldn't call Matrona and tell her, because Sam had gotten out, and she had no way to tell Matrona that it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. After the first day, people left her alone, and Sam withdrew, bravely able to feel like her head was above water. She wondered how these people, that school, had ever been so important to come back to, but it had been.

"Don't attempt to explain away or rationalize what I am." Sam returned crossly. She alone was responsible for that meltdown. The meltdown was on her. She was trying so hard not to shut down that she'd just exploded. It was the same reaction expressed in the opposite way. "I'm struggling, okay? I know it. I don't want to do this, but I made my bed and you excusing what I am doesn't help."

Jake's grip tightened. "This injury is not who you are." He said the words softly but forcefully, in a way that sent a shiver of something dark and powerful down Sam's spine. It spread into her toes and up through her fingers. He sounded so absolutely certain, so absolutely right and firmly assertive that Sam wanted to believe him.

He honestly believed that, Sam knew. He just didn't understand that everything was different. She was different, right down to every sensation she felt. Sam was sarcastic. "Yeah, right."

Jake shook his head, chiding her. "Sam..." Jake's touch was everywhere, and Sam desperately wanted to believe him, believe in the things he made her feel. Her breath danced across his ear, and Sam tightened her hold fractionally. Sometimes, she felt like Jake would never be close enough, and all she ever did was give him reasons to walk away.

"I'm sorry..." Sam whispered, and put her head down, again, losing herself again, this time, to sleep. Jake didn't reply again, though his touch never wavered.

_I don't feel like talkin'_

_It might be just too much to bear_

_to hear somebody say she ain't worth it_

_'Cause you don't know her like I do_

_You'll never understand_

_You don't know we've been through_

_That girl's my best friend_

_And there's no way you're gonna help me_

_She's the only one who can_

_No, you don't know how much I've got to lose_

_You don't know her like I do_

_You Don't Know Her Like I Do_ , Brantley Gilbert

Sam was out like a light when Jake tucked her feet up on the couch and shut the door behind him. Sometimes, she felt better after a meltdown. It was clear that tonight was one of those nights, as rarely as this happened.

Sometimes, he thought maybe her body put her through all of the overload to get to the quiet aftermath, the quiet moments of just them, just sitting, just being. He wished that her mind didn't force her through so much just to end up right back where she started every morning.

He made quick work of picking up the mug. It was beyond fixing, but he figured it was better that way. Sam didn't need to see it.

None of this was her fault. He'd read the books, talked to the doctors, lived through this, and more than that, he knew her. He saw _her_.

This, that, whatever it was, wasn't her. It was something she was going through. Sam never said, but he knew that sometimes, sensations and emotions became so overwhelming that she either shut down and stared at the wall, or screamed and cried. He actually preferred the latter, twisted as it was.

He tossed the silverware in the sink and stacked the books quickly. Thank God Mom was out at a meeting. Who knew where Quinn was?

Jake was thankful that no one had overheard. It would be hard to explain, but evidently, he had no choice.

 His father was standing in the kitchen, looking at the pencils scattered all over and at Jake with something unreadable on his face. "She's alright?"

Jake nodded as his father straightened a chair, "It was nothing."

Dad put a bunch of pencils on the table. "You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

So, Jake decided, his father had heard enough. Jake didn't reply as he wiped off the table and saw that the room was back to normal now that everything was straight. He did not know how to tell his father that none of this was his to worry about. Thinking about things he had learned with Ayers, Jake said, "She just shut down. She was tired, and I didn't see it. I thought she was being snippy because..."

Jake stopped speaking, not wanting to tell his father that she was mouthy. He knew, and it served no purpose. It wasn't like Jake minded when she was. He was supposed to, he guessed, but he didn't.

"That didn't sound like a shut down to me, Jake." Dad said, carefully. "Does she yell like that a lot?" Jake himself wanted to throw the bowl of chips he was pouring at his father.

Jake felt himself withdrawing from the conversation, but forced himself to stay present, sit down and eat his chips as though he wasn't annoyed that his father was prying. He could not tell his father that a blow-up like this often made him hate himself because they made some part of him happy, some sick part of him glad. He was happy when he heard her pulse in her veins, felt the energy she emitted all around them. He was never at peace, not really, but he was happy to see her alive.

He knew it was screwed up and said crazy things about their relationship. He didn't even mind the things she hated most about herself. The peace came later when she came back to herself and coped with whatever she was feeling.

Jake answered the only question he could. He could not give his father emotions. "Look, there's shutdowns and there are meltdowns. She melted tonight. It's nothing but an extreme reaction to everyday stimuli. They're two sides of the same coin. She's fine." Jake didn't tell his father that it was actually better to leave people alone when they melt like that, but he couldn't do that to Sam. He couldn't let her be in kind of pain. Jake didn't add that Sam would never leave him like that, and he didn't have to say that he wouldn't walk away.

His father looked skeptical and reached carefully into the chip bowl between them on the table. "Are you, though?"

Jake pushed the bowl closer to father. "Whatever you're assuming, you're wrong." Jake asserted.

All he did when she melted like that was get her somewhere that was easier on her senses and provide deep pressure and repetitive movement. All he did was provide support and sameness for her to cling to when she came back to herself. Jake had to be in charge, had to keep order in their world until Sam came back and the world made sense again. Privately, he worried about Sam hurting herself when she was that far off, lost in sensation.

Dad just looked at him, "I guess this whole thing is harder on her than I knew, is all."

Jake just nodded, and understood that there would be nothing said to anybody.

_She's sun and rain, she's fire and ice_

_A little crazy but it's nice_

_'Cause she'll rage just like a river_

_Then she'll beg you to forgive her_

_It needs no explanation_

_'Cause it all makes perfect sense_

_She's Every Woman_ , Garth Brooks

By Thursday, Sam was in hell but she had detached enough not to care. She had a routine now, one that was based in survival. Her goal was to avoid people when she could, and save up her energy for classes and the things she had to do.

She took to eating lunch in the library. Sam had forgotten that Darrell shared her lunch. Sam guessed he'd cottoned on to where she was, because not five minutes after she put her head down in carrell 16B, in the back corner of the library, and tired to sleep, there was a tap on her shoulder. S

he groaned, having just been in that floaty stage of conciseness. "You should really use your backpack as a pillow, you know, if you're going to be the class rebel." Darrell grinned and sat down next to her. Sam lifted her head.

She blinked hard, "Darrell?" Sam jumped, "Sorry!" She looked around quickly, head aching.

His grin faltered, "Sammy, you look like hell. Do you need help?" Darrell lowered his voice, and all traces of joy in his face was gone.

Sam shook her head, and winced as a wave of heat left her body and turned in a chill strong enough that she wanted to shiver. "I'm fine, really." She tried to stand up, but her knees wobbled. She tried again and took to her feet.

Darrell followed her up through the encyclopedias from 1957 to 1975 and past the periodicals in the tiny school library that was stuffed with books they never bothered to cull. "Sam. Now, you know I'm not used to being the bad guy in these little exchanges, but I think you're being foolish. Riddle me this..." Sam turned a corner and headed up through the science texts, "What would our beloved Jake do in this situation?"

Sam gave a fake gasp, forcing her tired eyes to widen, "I knew you were in love. It's fated, I'm sure." The image struck her as funny and Sam began to look on Darrell's face added to her mirth. The soft laughter made it hard to breathe so she stopped next to the nutrition books on display in the section closest to the stacks they'd just vacated.

Darrell wasn't laughing, "Darlin', you're sick, and I mean it literally." Darrell stopped in front of the Family and Consumer Sciences section.

"You know, there's a nicer way to tell a girl she isn't looking her best." Sam grinned, "Come on, you caught me sleeping. I'm fine." Darrell didn't buy it, but at least he left her be when Missy McKentry called his name. Sam used the window of his shifting focus to slip away and refill her water bottle.

She felt like a camel but her mouth was terribly dry. She just needed people to let her be.

_My mind is set on overdrive_

_The clock is laughing in my face_

_A crooked spine_

_My sense's dulled_

_Passed the point of delirium_

_On my own... here we go_

_Brain Stew, Green Day_

Max had the overhead projector going and the room was hot. History was the last class of the day. It could not be over soon enough.

Sam tried to shut out the whirr of the machine, the click click of the slides, the headache that had been building all day. She was sweating, but she was freezing. She was wholly consumed by the heavy reality of physical sensation. It was nothing like the other night, when sensation had carried her away. Now, it was holding her captive. 

Her mind was in overdrive, processing every tiny sensation that most people could easily ignore. Her mouth felt like cotton. There were purple and green spots in her eyes. Her head felt so heavy. Her water was gone, and she had promised Gram she would get some water in today because of how hot it was. Sam wanted to raise her hand, but her arm felt heavy. She decided it was not worth it.

Max's voice broke into her thoughts, "And the principle motive behind this initiate was economic. Roosevelt thought that..." She droned on and on and Sam couldn't keep pace.

Slides began to blur in her eyes, and she almost cried out when Max flicked on the lights. Her eyes slammed shut and her head spun. The desk chair felt slick. Sam was sure she was going to fall out of it, into a boneless heap. The seconds were painful. "Sam!"

Sam looked up blankly, eyes glassed over. Max's heels were clicking towards her desk. Sam did not know where to look. There was so much to see, all of it was blurry, and all of it hurt. 

People were leaving the room. Ally wasn't even here. Had she left? The classroom was empty.

Everything felt so foggy. Vaguely, Sam saw something shift in Max's expression. The teacher bent on explanations faded away, leaving the only mother she'd ever known in her place. Sam just wanted that mother, so badly. "Sam?" She laid her hand on the side of Sam's face. "You're burning up."

"I'm going to go..." Sam mumbled, "Nurse. Think...I...Home." She reached down for her backpack and tried to stand up, pushing up on the desk. The desk tipped over, and nearly took her tumbling to the floor. Max stopped the movement with her body, and pulled her up. 

One she was on her feet, Sam felt a bit better. "I just need...sip of water. I'm fine." She was tired, but Kyla had drummed walking into her so that she probably could keep upright in her sleep. She was thankful for Kyla's insistence that she learn to walk so that it became automatic, even though it wasn't, yet.

Max placed a steadying hand on her arm, and guided her to the door. "We're going to get you better." Sam missed the worry in Max's voice, missed the tightness of her grip.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Shift. Stride. Shift. Step. Right. Left.

Thething she knew, she was sitting in the nurse's office, a thermometer in her mouth. The plastic felt gummy in her dry mouth.

Max was on the phone with Dad. Sam could hear her whispering and saying, "Wyatt..."

Dad wasn't here. Why should he be? He never was, and she never looked around for Dad anymore. The room was cold. Sam was desperate for water.

"Max..." Sam whispered, wondering if she had really fallen asleep on her feet or just spaced out.

The nurse just looked over at her sympathetically. Bonnie Byler checked the thermometer as it beeped. "You're okay, Sam. You've got a fever. Exhaustion, I think. Maxine's just calling your father. You'll be home in no time." She placed a cup into Sam's sweaty hands, "Drink some juice, dear."

Sam nodded, and pulled her arms around herself. Her whole body ached, and she fell asleep against the pleather couch.

_Girl I know there's times you must have thought_

_There ain't a line you've drawn I haven't crossed_

_But you set your mind to see this love on through_

_I guess that's just the cowboy in you_

_The Cowboy in Me_ , Tim McGraw

Jake could not believe what he was hearing. At least he wasn't listening at the door this time. Mom spoke, "This isn't fair to Sam, Wyatt. She's run into the ground. She's not sick. She's tired."

Jake was debating that point internally. She seemed sick enough to him.

Dr. Francis had to call back. He was doing Sam's primary care right now, and his nurse had okay'd some tylenol with codeine and urged them to help Sam to bed with cold compress, if she wanted it. Apparently, her body was expending so much energy to keep going that she had over-exerted her systems so far that her body had started to shut down, and she'd gone and given herself a fever.

Her body was literally waving a white flag.He was angry at her, but he couldn't be angry when his heart was in his throat.

He was scared. Jake had been terrified when Darrell had called him, basically saying that Sam looked dead on her feet and what the hell was he thinking, letting her leave the house like that. She had seemed fine this morning, and Darrell didn't know her if he thought that he let Sam do anything.

Let did not enter into their vocabulary. He wasn't Wyatt, but he understood Darrell's meaning. She was sick if she was easily persuaded. Still, the word death rang in his ears. He didn't like that word anywhere near her in his mind, and of course she didn't reply to his texts.

Wyatt looked worried and Jake, for once, agreed his expression. Then he spoke and blew any sense he had to shreds. "She's been at school four days. She's got to manage."

Just like that, their rapport faded. Manage. Right. Wyatt was a grade A fool. An immature fool. Jake clenched his teeth so that his fists wouldn't join in.

"Manage?" Grace said, uncapping gatorade, "Let's see you you manage with a fever, Wyatt. Be sensible."

Jake wanted to kill him. Sam had done nothing but manage with all the stuff Wyatt had thrown at her and now he wanted her to cope when she needed support. This morning, Sam had told him all about how hard school was for her, but he'd never imagined that only a few hours later, she'd be at home with a fever.

Grace was in her element, it seemed. She couldn't handle a TBI but she took like a duck to water with a fever. Jake wondered if she understood how connected they were.

"What would you have me do, Mom?" Wyatt sighed. Jake stood up and started moving so that he didn't pummel Wyatt. "She wanted to be here."

Mom cut Jake off. She knew exactly what he was going to say, and tried to make the conversation stay on track. Jake thought Wyatt needed to know just how ridiculous he sounded.

"I think you should consider the extension program." Mom replied, outlining a newer program that the district had.

She was excited about it, had been going to meetings for months because she sat on the board for it."She could still go to the school for her newspaper, but she would do her classes at home, on her own time. She'd have access to district teachers and virtual classes."

"I don't think that's the best choice." Wyatt said, definitively. Grace looked less certain as she prepared a tray. Jake knew Sam wouldn't eat a bit of it, but sometimes having something to do make a person feel less hopeless and powerless, so he didn't fault Grace.

"Why not?" Jake finally spoke. If he knew what Sam was going through, he should be jumping at the chance to make her life better.

It rankled Jake that Wyatt didn't care. He was all too happy to have Sam in the barn now that she was back, all too happy to see her burning the candle at both ends, but wouldn't lift a damn finger to help her, not if it meant more work for him, or change in his perfect little set up. If Sam wasn't gone all day, he couldn't bring that woman to the house.

Jake knew how things were going down. Pepper's loyalty, his friendship, was something that Wyatt was quickly losing. He arched his brow.

"Because she is a sixteen year old girl, and sixteen year old girls go to school, and they have fun, and they do normal things." Wyatt said, as though he had some idea what it was like to be Sam, as if he even tried to understand her normal.

Things had changed. Wyatt needed to get with the program or Jake would see to it that his lack of awareness wasn't brought to Sam's attention again.

Jake had a reply. How stupid could Wyatt be? How blind? "It's real fun and normal to be run into the ground after 6 hours a day of hell on earth, Wyatt."

Mom looked at them. She understood. She had seen firsthand how some of the things at school was making Sam's work harder than it had to be. Her academics were fine, no matter what she said about math. It was just hard for her to focus on schoolwork when her brain was in overdrive. When she was relaxed and centered, her mind was as sharp as ever, sharper maybe.

"She likes school." Wyatt was grasping at straws, and they all knew it.

Sam didn't like school. She liked learning. She liked growing and reading and learning and information. She was smart, and she was bright, and she asked questions before they were supposed to be apparent. The school system was taking that away from her.

"I don't think she can handle the building and all the kids, Wy." Grace corrected. "She's just drained from being there in that place. It's nothing to do with her schoolwork."

That was true. When she was rested and centered, her work was fine. Jake was amazed at the stance Grace was taking. She was never one to go against the grain, but he supposed that she saw Sam fading away. He did. He knew how it made him feel, hopeless and in awe of the woman Sam was.

Wyatt looked uncertain. He tried to be positive, but his positivity grated on Jake like nothing else. His unwillingness to see the situation for what it was was agonizing and negative. He had to face facts. It was the system that was broken, not Sam. "Another week or two to get adjusted..."

"She'll just fall behind, and if she wants to get into a good college..." Mom said, masterfully playing on Wyatt's unfounded fears. "You need to face facts, Wyatt. Sam's needs have to come first, and she needs you to understand where she is, and meet her there. Not hold up some arbitrary standard that supposed to be true."

Jake was reeling. This was coming from his mother? What was going on? "What changed your mind?" Jake couldn't help but question the radical change in Mom's viewpoint.

"The look in her eyes when she said all she needed was a sip of water." Mom said, and Jake knew that there was more to it, "Anyway, look. The school will send her work out here for a week. Try that while she rests up, and if she agrees, I can put you in contact with the district coordinator."

There was a heavy thunk. The dog was coming down the stairs. Jake heard the jingle of his collar and the tap of his paws as he made his way slowly down the stairs. Wyatt paused. After a heavy moment, he asked, "Jake?"

Jake knew that this was his moment. This was his moment to assert his role in Sam's life, his one change to prove to Wyatt that they didn't need him, that Sam was taken care of. He couldn't do it in the way Wyatt would expect him to and he wouldn't have, even if he could have. He couldn't make this call for her, without her. It was her choice. That was his role in Sam's life, to defend her choices and her right to make them, not to make calls on her behalf. It was a shift, and a big one. It was one he hoped Wyatt understood. Sam wasn't a little girl, and she didn't need everyone's help. She just needed their support. "You'll have to ask Sam."

"I can do it." Sam spoke from the doorway, pale and haphazardly dressed. She was wearing jeans and a tank top. Her boots were in her hand, the laces wrapped around her fingers. Jake was not surprised, but he was also not happy. She misread the question in his eyes. "I can. I'm fine. The tylenol kicked in. I'm fine. The school was warm."

She was wanting to go do chores. That was just wonderful. Yeah, the school was warm, the tylenol kicked in, and she was so fine that she looked delirious. "You don't have to decide, today." Jake promised, "There's tomorrow."

Sam sat down on the chair next to the phone and dropped her boots. "I'm going to see the horses. Ace says that you can't curry for nothing." Sam replied, in that off way she did when she was only a tiny bit drugged.

"Anything." Jake corrected boldly. She was sick, he thought, if the horses were using incorrect grammar when they spoke to her. She insisted her horses were educated. It was a silly, old, joke, but one that brought him comfort. He did not think Sam was joking.

"Wh'ever." She shrugged. "Take me outside." Jake noticed the slur, noticed that the medication was kicking in for real, now.

He made a "shh..." gesture to the people in the room. He took Sam's boots from beside her. He felt bad for tricking her by wasting time, but biding his time was the only option they really had. In another three minutes, she'd be snoring and the only place she was going to do it was in a bed. He was not helping her halfway outside only to bring her back in. She said she was warm now, but in ten seconds, she'd be cold again.

"Okay." Jake agreed, affably. Easily, he helped Sam to her feet and she looked down at her bare toes. He saw her eyes flutter open and shut as she yawned.

Sam shook her head, "I changed my mind." She was half-asleep. She stumbled out of the room and Jake followed her, the dog trotting after them. Not to be outdone, Cougar followed. Acting quickly, Jake turned around and grabbed her boots and the glass of juice that Grace extended.

_You better cool it off before you burn it out._   
_You got so much to do and only so many hours in a day._   
_Don't you know that when the truth is told_   
_That you can get what you want or you can just get old?_   
_You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through._   
_Slow down, you're doing fine._   
_You can't be everything you wanna be before your time._

_Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while._   
_It's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two._

_Vienna_ , Billy Joel


	19. True to Myself

_You got troubles and I got 'em too_

_There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you_

_We stick together, we can see it through_

_'Cause you've got a friend in me_

_You've got a friend in me_

_You've Got a Friend in Me_ , Randy Newman

Sam blinked the sleep from her eyes and saw that it was mid-afternoon, through the window. She jumped when Jen spoke, "I am so angry at you, it's not even funny."

Sam didn't move. Jen was angry? She had to be having a nightmare again. She wiggled her toes.

Jen spoke again, "Come on, sit up. I know you're awake." She sounded frustrated, and Sam turned to see her sitting in the desk chair, with a textbook by her side on the desk.

Sam almost hated to ask. She propped herself up, and yanked at the blankets. It was freezing in here, even with the summer's heat all around her. The tylenol had worn off, Sam realized.

"Wha-?" She was awake fully now, thirst having driven her to wake up enough to drink.

Her mouth was dry. She reached over and fumbled with the water Gram had left by her bedside. It was room temperature and stagnant, but she drank it greedily. Jen took the glass when it shook in her hand.

She set it down with a thunk. "I'll tell you what you did. You lied! 'Jen, I'm fine! I had an easy night. I went to bed early, sorry I couldn't call.'" Jen exhaled, and Sam knew her guilt was never going to go away, "Or how about, 'Jen, I'm not sick. I swear I feel fine, go to Mathletes.' or 'Don't be silly. I'm doing just fine. I was in the barn all night, it's why I look like this.'"

Sam knew that she deserved this, this embodiment of her nightmares. It was still hard to handle, though. 

Jen stopped mocking her, and came to her point, "You systematically lied about everything, Sam! Everything! I asked you consistently, and you consistently sold me a bill of goods!" Jen sat down, "You're not leaving the room until you tell me why."

Sam was ashamed. She knew that Jen was right. She had put Jen off a million times over the last four days in many of those ways, plus more that Jen wasn't listing. Sam had tried her best to lay a good foundation. She didn't want this whole thing to change her relationship with Jen. She wanted to focus on things they had always focused on, and it looked like her goal had backfired.

"I'm sorry." Sam was honestly contrite.

"I don't want platitudes." Jen sat back down on the chair, the heat in her voice hardening to a rock solid insistence, "I want reasons."

Sam wanted to give them to her, but she didn't know where to start. She shifted against her pillows, bunching her feet in the blankets to plant them on the mattress and pushed up with some effort to sit, so that she had the use of her upper body. "It's hard to explain."

Jen looked ready to help, but she didn't move. She didn't even look put off by the physical changes in Sam's body that made it so hard to even sit up in a bed she'd been comfortable in for most of her life. "You explain it well enough to Jake."

The hurt was clear in Jen's voice. Sam mumbled her reply."We're equally deluded." Jake had his own problems with things. He was hardly in a position to judge her. She knew that Jen wouldn't judge or condemn her, but Jake had been there. There hadn't been words between them. Still, it didn't justify hurting the person she considered to be the sister she'd never had.

"You think you're deluded." Jen frowned, "Look, do you even know what a TBI is?"

"Jen." She shifted, dismissing the question.

Of course she knew. She was living it, wasn't she? Ella had made her take classes with the other people on the ward. It was strange. She had never felt like she belonged with all those other people, but Ella had made her go. She belonged with Jen, she knew, belonged in their friendship. Still, she could not explain this to Jen. It wasn't logical. 

"Let me tell you what I know." Jen grew smug in that scholarly way of hers, the way she got when she decided she could expound on a subject she knew well. "I know you had a closed TBI in the recent past." Sam hoped she wasn't going to talk about that past. She wasn't ready to talk about  it in this room. The details were hardly important. It had happened, and this was the aftermath.

Jen continued on, "I need not rehash details, I think. I know that a TBI is responsible for dysfunctional brain cells."

Sam exhaled in relief. She was talking about science, then, and not history. "I think we all know what it is, Jen."

"Yeah, maybe. But I also know what it means. I'm smart like that, remember?" Jen smiled, having made her point, "Your TBI means you're having some sensory issues." Sam watched as Jen gathered her words, unsure for the most fleeting of seconds. "I saw them, waited for you to say something, waited for you to acknowledge what's going on inside your head. You didn't. Why?"

"They're not normal, Jen." Sam confessed. What she was experiencing wasn't actually reality, and to talk about her sensations like they were did nothing to help anybody, or keep relationships on an even keel, "I mean to start as I intend to go on."

"Excuse me, is this a John Wayne film? Because you sound crazy." Sarcasm left Jen's voice as she realized that Sam was serious. She pushed her glasses up her nose and reframed her statement, "You can't start as you mean to go on, Sam. You have to improve, and loathe as I am to sound like an Oprah sycophant, embrace the journey. You're not where you're going to be, always." Jen promised. "You have to accept where you are now to get where you want to go."

She looked around the room quickly, pinning Sam with a question like a scientist might do with a bug, "Or do you want to spend the rest of your life in this bed? Because frankly, I'm sick of you pretending that nothing happened, that you're not different."

"I'm not different!" Sam denied.

She could not allow herself to be different. This injury had taken so much from her, she had nothing left to give. Everything she was clinging to was all she had left. It had taken her body, her mind, and even parts of her heart in the aftermath, but she would not allow it to touch her soul. She would not allow the injury to hurt something as sacred as her friendship with Jen.

"Liar." Jen said.

Sam felt that accusation like a knife. Jen knew her well. She knew what Sam was. Somehow, being called out on the lying made it all the worse. Didn't people see that it was the only thing that kept her safe?

Sam was silent, and let Jen go on. She could not defend herself against the truth. "Do you know how it felt, to go to school this morning and find out from Darrell that you were near to the point of collapse?"

Jen continued on, as a denial rose within Sam. She was not sick, and the fever would pass. They had before. "Do you have any idea how it feels to know that you've cut me out?"

Sam could not listen to that. She could not listen to Jen say that she had pushed her away. It was not true. Jen was the one last corner in her life wherein she still felt like Sam, still felt just the same as she always had, mostly. This whole thing was not Jen's burden. "I can't tell you what this is because I don't know what it is. I can't understand this, how can I expect anyone else to do it?"

"I don't need words, Sam." Jen replied, tucking back her choppy hair.

Her hands were shaking, and Sam shoved them under the covers and fisted her hands in the folds of her nightgown so that she wouldn't stim, "I just want to be there with you. I won't need words then."

Sam opened her mouth to say something, but only the truth came out. "I'm sorry." She was sorry that Jen felt so isolated, sorry that she had been the cause of it, sorry that this injury had taken even her right to be who she was in the closest relationship she had.

"I know." Jen said, calmly, "I forgive you for being an isolationist and for trying to protect me." She sat on the edge of the bed, the rift between them smaller.

Sam felt the closeness between them and tried to put her feelings into words. She licked her dry lips."It's just, I've got to be able to take care of me. Make things work."

Jen replied, unblinking, like an owl. She looked at Sam and there was such a knowing about her that Sam wanted to cry. There was no sympathy in gaze. She was staring at Sam like she might have looked at a plucky mule. "My Granny always said that stupidity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a new result."

Sam could not resist correcting her knowledgeable best friend, "I think that was Ben Franklin."

"The woman's such a fossil that she probably went to school with him." Jen's reply might have been ageist were it not for the kindness and the fondness in her tone. She loved her Granny, who advocated for water rights and played canasta in Utah.

Jen scooted around on the foot of the bed after Sam pulled up her feet as best as she was able. She needed another pillow, but she wasn't about to break the moment between them. With Jen's soft laugh, the past faded away. Sam wanted to believe that this could be any old Friday afternoon in late summer. She wanted that more than anything.

Sam's question was hopeful, "Jen, seeing as how you're the Queen of Medical Research, did you ever come across anything about touch lingering on nerve endings?"

Jen looked at her over her glasses and fell into her element. "Psychologically, touch is a physical, emotional, and social language. Studies suggest that that the emotional and social factors that enter into the touch are all but inseparable from physical sensations. The skin is not just there, a casing for our bodies. It's alive, you know, and what happens is that the pressure receptors in our skin lower some chemicals in our brain and raise others." Jen broke off, switching of her lecture mode, as it were, to ask a question, "Are you talking about self-soothing behaviors?"

Sam hadn't been asking about herself, only for a way to understand why everything felt so different in the world around her, why school was so very hard. She didn't have the guts to ask her genius best friend why school was so hard, though. There were some things Jen would never understand, and academic challenges were the top of the list. "What?"

Jen gestured with her eyes, and Sam's eyes followed the line of her gaze. "You're squeezing your wrist, Sam."

Sam blushed hotly. Jen saw it, and her eyes got wide as Sam dropped her wrist.

Her tattoo, Sam realized, was a point of reference for her stimming. Sam turned her wrist over. "I got a tattoo."

"Sam, you didn't! Did it hurt? You're such a rebel. Let me see." She scrambled across the bed and sat next to Sam, folding her knees to sit against the headboard, "That makes so much sense about sensation. Who knows how the introductions of inks under the dermis might effect your perceptions." She looked down excitedly and Sam saw the second she made out the shape on Sam's wrist.

The brown bear was stark against the whiteness of her pale, untanned, skin, bright against the softness in way that soothed Sam, and clearly, shocked Jen. Her face was horrified, almost. 

Her face smoothed back, though the fear did not dissipate as she said, "You're so stupid."

Jen looked up again, "I didn't mean that." She seemed to think better of calling her best friend, who had a brain injury, stupid. Jen quickly spoke, "It's just that your cognitive abilities have been disrupted in ways you might not know, and...well, it's not something you can take back, is it?"

Sam didn't reply. She would never take it back, never want to even try. 

Jen continued on, "I mean, what if you meet a guy and you come to care for him, and he asks you about it?" Jen looked at her, her blue eyes widening, "Unless...you're saying you've already..." 

Sam did not care. Anyone she knew would have  to understand their story, understand the bond between her and Jake. It would take a special kind of a guy to not feel threatened by the love between them. Sam wasn't sure she wanted to know someone like that. 

"Jen. Please." Sam asserted, unable to pull off the eye-roll that normally came with this discussion. "You know better."

"You lied, okay?" Jen shot back, half-joking, half-hurt, "How do I know you two aren't having a lurid affair?"

Sam smiled, and understood that Jen was not angry, only concerned.

She had nothing to be concerned about, not really. "Jake couldn't do anything lurid if his life depended on it. I think he would probably outline exactly what his intentions were before he even so much as held a girl's hand. Can you imagine him asking for a kiss?" Sam asked archly, "I'm not sure if he would talk your ears off and never end up doing it, or just fumble through asking with some kind of mime."

Sam had a sudden flash of awareness, a sudden knowing, that somehow, Jake was more confident than she gave him credit for. He could barely talk to random girls, but he was not shy or retiring once he knew somebody. She knew from the way he touched her, carefully but intently, with the hot flash of fire between them, that he was an assertive person, even in that, or he would be, when he met the right girl. He was more than at ease taking the lead on things when she asked him to do so, when she needed it, and Sam knew exactly how that might translate. 

Sam tried not to think about the faceless girl her mind had cooked up. 

"I haven't, but you have." Jen smirked, her small smile consuming her face.

Sam pouted, "You know what I meant!"

"Yeah." Jen waved off Sam's expression, "Guess you would tell me everything, I mean, not that you have."

Sam begged, and tried to turn to face Jen. "Enough with the guilt trip." She grabbed another pillow, feeling like a turtle without a shell, and spoke, "I'll tell you everything, if you can bear to listen to it."

Jen did not let her off easily, as she made herself comfortable for the next two hours of conversation. "I'll listen if you don't try to evade with stuff like that. Start talking."

Sam did, she told Jen things she hadn't thought about telling her things, things about her body, her mind, and her soul. Slowly, Jen asked more and more probing questions. Sam and Jen talked and talked and talked until the wounds between them were so healed that they disappeared between them. Sam felt that Jen understood, and in talking, she came to understand things about the last few months that eluded her.

Jen burrowed under her covers, and held her hand. The conversation slowed, after a time, and they sat there, together, staring at each other, talking about everything and nothing. 

Sam's fever spiked, and she drank more tylenol, but not even the fever or the nasty medication could wipe the soft smile from her face as she fell into oblivion.

_Who do we become without knowing where we started from?_

_And I'll remember the years_

_When your mind was clear_

_How the laughter and life_

_Filled up this silent house_

_Silent House_ , The Dixie Chicks

The soup was warm in the bowl before her. Sam stirred the bowl slowly, eyeing the cat. He knew better than to jump up here. At her cross look, he abandoned his plan and sulkily padded away for parts unknown.

Sam bit into a cracker and decided that she had to think.

The whole past week blurred in her memory like the weeks she first regained her memory had, even with Jen telling her everything she had put together. She wondered at details her mind seemed to be missing. The long and short of it seemed to be that school wasn't working as it should be.

Jen was right. She alway was. Sam knew she had to come to terms with how much she had changed, and cope with it. It was clear to her, after some rest, that school was the representation of that change, that need to cope.

She bit into a noodle and thought back to Jake's advice. She had to find what was important, and sluff off the extras. School was important, but so was the ranch. Sleep was important, but so was homework.

It appeared that the question had to be centered on what was more important, and what she could bear to cut from her life.

Sam figured she had the weekend to figure it out. No way was she staying home the whole week, not when she had worked so hard to get here. She would adjust, because she had said she would, and she wasn't a quitter. She had worked toward this goal, and she owed it to herself, to Jake, to all of the people that had supported them to show them that she could meet it. Additionally, Sam wanted nothing more to prove that she could do this to the very people that asserted she never would make it happen.

Sam slowly ate her soup. It was insane to be eating chicken soup in the late summer, but Gram had ideas about what helped a fever, and Sam had missed Gram's cooking. The fancy foods were gone away, at least when that woman wasn't around, and Sam settled back into the home cooking she loved. Her taste buds still hadn't adjusted to spices, nor to meat, but she was able to handle the chicken broth, even if she did think it rather spicy.

Sam missed having Ella to rely upon. Ella never guided her towards a choice, but she provided a sounding board, provided room and a safe space to consider her options, to explore the world and what was going on in it. Leaving San Fran hadn't been all it was cracked up to be. The guilt at leaving intensified. 

There was just no space here for her, anymore. Dad had that woman to help him, and it appeared J.J. was getting on in the barn. Sam didn't like him, but she figured she wouldn't even like Jesus if he popped up and took her place in the barn.

The order of the day was to find her space. Ella had helped Sam to see that she would have to do that as a coping tool. It was a mental task, to find a spot, a place, and say, "This is mine. No matter what is going on outside of this space, I have it to come back to."

Some people were able to find that space in their hearts and minds, but Sam's head was always out of whack. She therefore decided that she needed someplace external. Her favorite physical place in the world had always been the barn. So, Sam finished her soup, and carefully carted the bowl to the sink. She was on a mission, and nothing focused Sam like a goal.

Gram was out with Trudy. Sam had the run of the house. The expectation was that she would stay inside and watch inane redecorating shows on HGTV via Netflix. She did not understand why people couldn't look past paint color when choosing a home that millions of people would sell their right arms for. The TV made her head spin, still, so she decided to finish her lunch and go outside.

_Cause I'm back on the track and I'm beatin' the flack_

_Nobody's gonna get me on another rap_

_So look at me now I'm just makin' my play_

_Don't try to push your luck just get out of my way_

_Cause I'm back, yes I'm back_

_Back in Black_ , AC/DC

Presently, Sam was staring at the five steps before her. This was the first time she was planning to attempt going down them with no supervision. It didn't matter, Sam decided, having someone around was needless. Her mind quickly pulled up images of all the things she could mess up. Sam gathered herself and leaned against the handrail.

She put her left foot of the edge and tried to control the drop of her foot.

The second foot was easier.

Each step went by, and Sam realized that her last challenge was finding someplace for her right hand. There was nowhere to slide it down the banister, and her left hand would have to slide it in place as she sidestepped down the stairs, feeling something like a crab without the protection of a shell.

Sam closed her eyes and just did it, just let go and put her right foot on the ground. She remained standing and quickly shifted to stay that way. The hard ground under her feet was a blessing. 

Her next goal was to get to the barn. The neuropathy in her feet wasn't bad, but she was trying to conserve energy. The chair was, without question, her only option if she wanted to get there and still have energy to do something.

Sam pushed, and then realized that she did not have enough torque to get over the grass and dirt that made up the yard. Thankfully, she knew well enough to stay off of the gravel that made up the driveway. The gravel would only get caught in the front casters and not allow her to push through them. As long as she was careful to look for small dips and rises in the grass, it was easy enough to get across the yard.

She bumped across the yard without much fuss once she started being mindful. Actually getting into the barn was her main challenge. She was unable to pop the kind of wheelie she needed to do to get up and over the ledge into the barn.

She tried once, and the chair's front casters couldn't get a foothold because the doorway wasn't up a step. It was a board, she guessed, that you stepped over and into the barn.

Using her critical thinking skills, Sam decided that brute force was her only option. She tried not to think about how needless this would have been months ago, nor how easy lifting the chair would have been. 

The chair weighed close to 25 pounds, but she was able to get out of the chair, use the push handles to pop it backwards as though she were doing a wheelie, and get it over and down. She never actually had to pick it up, just bear the weight and push until the middle of the chair's frame was resting over the board.

Pushing the back wheels was easy enough because the majority of the chair's weight was leaning forward anyhow. Sam used gravity to her advantage. The chair rocked from side to side until it decided that it would stay upright.

Once she was satisfied that the chair was safely in the barn, Sam gripped the door jamb, and stuck her right foot over the board.

"Fuck, please, please, please." Sam whispered, as if by rote. Sam didn't think God would mind the profanity in her prayer overmuch, not when it was the most honest prayer she knew how to say. 

Sam felt like she was going to topple over, so she quickly grabbed the chair and yanked herself over the step.

The chair, thankfully, did not move even though Sam had not applied the breaks once it was set down. Knowing that that oversight could have seen her badly injured, Sam resolved to think next time. She plopped down into the gel seat and set herself up in her chair.

Once that was done, Sam looked around. She breathed deeply, smelling the woodsy, earthy, mown hay scent that permeated the barn. The interior was a work space, it was true, but it was also her home. She knew every spider's web in this place, every nook, every cranny. This was her barn. Sam felt a surge of belonging and ownership that not even her rocky relationship with Dad could shake.

It was his ranch, but this was her barn. She was the one who handled most of the office things, simply because Dad insisted she learn and she had a knack for everything but actually selling the cattle when the time came. Cattle were livestock, but she often felt badly about shipping them off to their fate.

Dad used to say that she had a kind heart. He probably did not feel that way, anymore.

Sam decided that she would have to venture inward. The birds nesting in the rafters chirruped. She imagined it was in greeting. She knew every stall, of course. The feed room was next to the tack room in the middle of the barn, and the office was in the back. The office door was shut, but she heard the radio playing.

After another second, she heard the comforting rumble of Dallas' voice. She'd spoken to him and spent some time in his company, but she always felt that the barn was his natural habitat.

_This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill_

_Fifteen percent concentrated power of will_

_Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain_

_And a hundred percent reason to remember the name!_

_He doesn't need his name up in lights_

_He just wants to be heard_

_He feels so unlike everybody else, alone_

_In spite of the fact that some people still think that they know him_

_Remember the Name,_  Fort Minor

Sam wheeled down the middle aisle and began to hear Dallas speak. Her heart was glad. She felt like she was back in her world for a fleeting second.

Sam quickly navigated her way over to the radio, wondering how he hadn't heard her. She reached into her pocket and plugged in her iPod. Clicking a playlist as the radio lit up, she grinned as Gary and Bing's music filled the space softly.

She remembered him humming the song and tugging on the end of her braids. For so long, she was convinced that  _Sam's Song_  was about her, and privately, her childish heart refused to give up on the allusion.

Dallas was a good grandpa. He really was. True to his form, he heard the piano and came out of the tack room, a look of confusion on his face, "Now, who...?"

Sam didn't say anything. She just smiled. Dallas looked at her and smiled back. Sam understood the moment. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, "Personally, I like Gary better."

He fixed his face in a look of caring exasperation, "Enough foolin' Sam. There's daylight burning."

Sam left her iPod playing, knowing that the mix was fine. She had avoided this playlist for months, and hearing it was hard. Still, she could not deny Dallas the simple joy of it. She'd made it for him, ages ago. He'd held down the fort, and she owed him one.

She was closer to her spot.

She had a feeling that she had overlooked her office, a warm, hopeful feeling. It was a comfortable space, one she had grown into over the last few years. Dad did his work in the kitchen with Gram, so as long as she left his filing drawer alone in the cabinet and didn't touch his laptop or his bookshelf, she had free run of the space, unless he had a meeting, and even then, he could never find anything and ended up asking her to get ready for it.

Sam was so looking forward to knowing she had her space in the world back. "I'm going to my office."

Dallas looked thoughtful, "Your father's no good on that computer. There's probably a thousand emails to send. Your Gram'll have my head if you tax yourself. What's say you come help an old man? You can read out my  _Farm and Ranch News_ out to me. A little news might help the time to pass."

Sam knew that Dallas was only trying to make up work for her, so that she would feel useful. She didn't need that, though. There was no reason she couldn't turn on her computer and get back to people looking for information and emails, or make a list of people for Dad to call. Playing secretary wasn't hard, and it was a role she didn't much mind. "I'm fine, Dallas. Thanks, though."

He seemed to understand, so Sam made her way to her office. The door was shut. It probably hadn't really been touched much. Dad didn't like working in her for one reason or another, and Sam had kind of taken it over. She pushed open the door.

Her office was filled with stuff. That's all it was, stuff, with no rhyme or reason to it. There was a halter on the desk, and there were a few duffel bags blocking her way. There was someone living in her office, that much was clear. There was someone's personal things all over. What the heck was her office, a storage pod?

"Dallas!" Sam cried, a sharp edge of panic in her voice. She couldn't help it. She spun around quickly, and pushed up the aisle, knocking her chair into the doorjamb and whacking her hand against the wood and the wheel in her haste, "Who is living in my office?"

This was her spot. This was her fucking spot. She had worked so hard to get here, and now, there was somebody else living in it? How awfully poetic.

Dallas looked up from the table, "Didn't J.J. cart all those things to the bunkhouse yet?"

"No." Sam said, "He didn't." That stupid, stupid, stupid...

Sam tried not to let her feelings show in front of Dallas. This was business. This wasn't personal, even if she was taking it personally. She hated his guts, but she still had an obligation to be a fair employer. "But maybe he could, and I could get to work, do you think?" Dallas would know what to do. She might have to make this call, but he could tell her right from wrong when she doubted herself. He knew more about life than she ever would. 

Sam thought back to the clutter in the office, "I can't fit the chair inside the office with all of his stuff."

Dallas looked upon her sympathetically, which was the last thing she wanted. She just wanted access to the office she had a perfect right to using. Well, she really wanted J.J. to get on his horse and head for Nebraska. She figured a few states between them would be good enough.  "I'll get to it."

He started to stand, and Sam shook her head, "It's not your circus, or your monkeys, Dallas." Sam tried to lessen the impact of the implications that her mobility issues were having. She did not want to make an issue of it, or leave the chair in the hall. It would be in the way, just like she felt she was.

She _was_ in the way.

No one would do extra work for anyone else. She had fought for years to prove that she didn't need a soul to pick up her slack anymore. Damn if that still wasn't going to be true, at least in this. She couldn't tie her shoes, or drive a truck, but she could do the least favorite parts of her job. It was all she had left. "I'm fine."

It appeared, Sam decided, looking over her wreck of an office, that J.J. not only didn't carry other people's bags, he didn't carry his own crap, the stupid, egotistical, hypocritical fuckwit.

She would just have to help him out with a little Western hospitality. Midwestern hospitality was warm, but Western hospitality was practical. Out here, Sam thought, they made sure their guests didn't get themselves killed. Moving his bags was a clear example of that ethos in action.

Sam wondered if Jake would put a trailer hitch on her chair. It would be more practical than the plan she had. There were 10 or 12 boxes, and a few bags blocking her way into her office. J.J. wasn't going to stop her, that was for sure. She couldn't pick up the boxes, that was impossible, but what she could do was hook the bags over her chair and pray she could push them to the bunkhouse and then put the boxes where the bags were so that she could get to her desk.

You did not screw with her space. J.J. worked here. This wasn't his home and this barn surely did not house his office. If he wanted the office, he could darn well do the work and earn it. He could spend years learning how to handle correspondence, and the website, and the paperwork, and the appointment book, and every last detail that came with running this place on that end. 

His bags smelled like dirty laundry and cigarettes, but Sam had no choice but to get up close and personal with the bags as she handled them, and hooked them on her chair. They made her sick to her stomach. 

She decided to stand up, and push the chair as though the bags were her own body. She leaned on the chair, and pushed.

The ugly barney purple body bag toppled to the floor. Sam shoved it on again, looped the strap around her chair's backrest, and pushed. She was using a $3000 chair as a bellboy's cart. She'd fabreeze it later. The things she did for this ranch, Sam thought.

This was the hardest bit of work she had ever done. She nearly fell twice in the first three feet. She wobbled, and felt the fever start to return as the sweat built up between her shoulders and across her brow. 

She had to sneak out of her own barn through the side door. That was easier with the chair, as there was no step. There was a manmade dirt incline, though, that she had to hoof it upwards. Luckily, once she puffed and sweated her way to the top, it was mere feet to the bunkhouse. She dropped to her knees, almost, once, and pulled with some force on the chair to keep standing, nearly tipping it over. The second time she fell, she nearly impaled herself on the push handles of the wheelchair as she scrambled to keep her footing on the hill. 

She hoped the sweat would carry away the fever she could still feel in her veins under the suppression of the medication. Sam threw the bags down in a heap reminiscent of her own last week. She could not resist the poetic drama in all of this. It was too perfect for words. Sam kicked the last bag into the neat pile, and surveyed her efforts. 

What kind of cowboy traveled this heavy? It used to be that Sam could be content with one bag for weeks. She could change into official dress in the cab of a truck, and she could have a complete wardrobe with three pairs of jeans, a few tops, and one skirt. This boy clearly wasn't cut out for this life. 

How had she gotten all those bags to here in one trip? She looked critically at her wheelchair and saw a bit of dirt on the seat.

Sam brushed it off furiously. "I'm J.J. I don't carry bags." Sam mocked, "Let me tell you something, greenhorn, you sure as shooting do now." She was furious, and she knew it. At least she was owning her emotions. Ella would be proud.

Sam decided that a second trip was beyond her means right now, so she headed back to the barn through the front entry. Going down a grade that steep without help was scary and she knew she couldn't do it. She could get over the board again.

After all, she'd done it once.

_You talk about people that you don't know  
You talk about people wherever you go_

_You just talk, talk too much_

_You can make me scream_

_Talk Too Muc_ h, Joe Jones

Saturday at the hardware was the stuff of his nightmares. The nattering in his ears for the past 45 minutes was no help. People were starting to look, people he would have to face later.

 

"Would you shut up?" Jake tossed the packet into the cart. These losers had been hounding him and hounding him about Sam, and he was two seconds from pouring the paint cans in their cart over their heads.

"Touchy there, brother?" Quinn asked, with a smile. He knew, now, why his best friend was a woman. She only teased him about girls in private, and when he asked Sam to stop, she stopped, most of the time.

This really wasn't funny anymore. Darrell had instigated, and Quinn wouldn't grow up and let it go. Jake guessed he wanted to look cool in front of Darrell, but really, he looked like a freak because he knew exactly the sort of relationship Jake and Sam had. He wasn't touchy. He was tired of managing a passel of five year olds in grown men's bodies.

Darrell pushed the cart, joshing Quinn out of the way, "Why don't you just admit that you want to get busy, and then get busy, getting busy?"

He wasn't going to take the bait. They had been teasing him all afternoon about Sam, why he didn't know. He just knew that when they couldn't ruffle his feathers talking about money or love, they turned their pea sized minds to sex. Jake just rolled his eyes, "Are you five?"

"Would you not talk about my siblings like that, please?" Quinn said, as he had always done, "Sammy still sorts her gummy bears and eats them by color." 

Jake grinned. She did do that, and it was kind of funny. Her gummy bears often became an interactive food. She refused to admit that she played with them, but she did.

"Sorry, Quinn, you're right. He doesn't want to get busy." Darrell ignored his friend, "It's so much more! It's a magical communion of souls, the biding of life forces, the uniting of energy..." Darrell mocked. "In a moment, well in your case, 1.5 seconds of bliss."

Jake did not strike out. 

Quinn did not speak out for him, but Jake knew why. Quinn forgot he knew all about just how far he'd gone with Sarah McKentry and what Sarah had meant to his sorry behind, and how broken he'd been when she'd gone away to school.

Jake just returned, "What did I ever do to deserve you idiots?"

"Jake." Darrell replied, lugging paint cans like he was lifting 200 pound weights. They hit the cart and the metal rattled, "You don't earn this awesomeness. It is a gift from God."

"Losers." Jake snorted, pushing the cart, pulling out the sibling trump card. It was childish, but this conversation was beyond stupid. They had no idea what they were talking about. "Wait till I tell Mom you were talking about sex in the middle of the hardware store."

"Do it, and I'll tell every soul I can that you've been..." Quinn raised his eyebrows. Jake noticed his meaning, and shook his head. He did not want Darrell to know that he did not want to be a cop anymore. He knew Quinn wouldn't really tell. He, for some reason, trusted his idiot brother.

Darrell, oblivious to everything, said, "Are you two ever going to date?"

Like he hadn't heard that question five hundred and fifty six times. Jake merely raised his eyebrow and looked at the stains on Darrell's shirt. "You ever going to eat without slobbering all over your clothes?"

"I'm not the one whose got Sam working under the assumption that I'm gayer than my uncle Patrick." Darrell returned, "Who knows what she'd do to you if she knew you're, you know, not gay!" He said it pretty loudly, with a silly expression. 

People were really looking now. Jake smiled tightly at a member of the church board and his wife. If he got called to the carpet for Darrell's shit, he was going to kill him. 

Quinn was starting to look annoyed. "Darrell. Shut up about my sister, okay? I like you, but I will hit you." 

Darrell wasn't the least bit put-off. "Who are you going to take to the social, if you don't have a girl?" Darrell was out of ammo, thank God, if he was bringing up the church social.

Last year, he and Sam had been completely adult and had only joined in on the water balloon fight to help manage the kids in Children's Church. Sam had made their plans this year. The church always needed workers, and the Children's Church kids were a lot more fun than Darrell.

"Why would I take anybody to work?" Jake asked. He did not want Darrell horning in on running the free snack booth.He'd just end up eating all of the snacks and generally being a fool. The kids loved him. 

Jake figured he wouldn't get an answer so he just turned to clerk who had started this store sometime before 1947. "Hey, Herb."

"Hey, boys." The older man nodded, "What'd you stop by for today? More paint, I see."

"Yeah." Jake nodded. More paint and more paint, and more paint. The house would never be done. It was on the market, but Jake knew it would never be done, not really. Never. His bank card was wheezing as he put it through the slider. The poor thing was begging for mercy. Jake knew he was going to have to do something about a paycheck, and soon. So long as he still had the money for his appointment later this afternoon, it was all fine.

"Hey, Herb." Darrell replied, easily,"Is Viola still in town?"

Jake relaxed. Darrell wanted him to be his wingman. He'd been doing that stuff for years. Somebody had to keep his sleezebucket of a friend away from women. Really, though, Darrell was a nice guy. Sam said girls thought he was charming in a goofy way.

Herb nodded, using his gnarled hands to punch numbers in an old register. He refused to use the ones his son-in-law insisted upon. He looked Darrell over, every inch the retired Sailor. "Staying until the 16th, as a matter of fact."

"I just know she'd love to go to the social." Quinn added, obviously helping Darrell out. Jake wasn't going to lift a finger. He hoped Sam didn't get wind of their pettiness.

No, on second thought, he was going to be the one to tell her. He liked to see her blush.

"How nice of you to ask her, Quinn." The older man replied, "Are you wanting to ask her, or Darrell?" Herb was clearly hoping on Quinn.

He looked at Quinn, and then at Jake for some kind of help.

Jake had no idea. He hadn't seen Viola in years. She had moved away ages ago, why he didn't remember.

Jake didn't think it was odd that Herb skipped right over him, though the expression on Darrell's face said he did. Everyone knew Jake wasn't the dating kind. There was never the time. 

"Oh, not us, sir." Darrell shook his head, "Jake here was just saying he's already going."

If looks could kill, his brother and his former best friend would have been dead at his feet. He had plans to work the food booth. They knew this. He'd signed him and Sam up months before, because the booth was Sam's dog and pony show.

Jake knew he was screwed when Herb, who'd missed the non-verbal discussion, called a brunette girl out from the stock room behind them, a terribly befuddled look upon his aged face. "Well, what...of course, of course..." 

She moved all of two inches from behind the door. She had heard every word.

Quinn looked shocked that Darrell would go this far.

 

Jake heard Sam's voice in his head, _Come on, just breathe, okay? It's not like she's a snake. She just wants to know what you're thinking._

Jake took the lead here, "I'm, uh, going to be working the snack booth for the Children's area."

Viola smiled, "I really like kids."

He was no good at talking to people he didn't know. Social discomfort rose within him, making his tongue thick. He had to focus, and try not think about everybody looking at him.

 _What do you say when something says something nice? You can do this. Just don't roll your eyes and snort. Very few girls find that endearing._ "That's great." Jake replied, heat rushing to his ears, which were thankfully hidden by his hat.

He didn't know how to talk to people. 

Ayers and Ella had explored this in detail. Ella hadn't liked the reason, "Well, I talk to people I know just fine."  

"How do you get to know more people, then?" Ella had pressed. "Making new friends, reaching out, is important." 

Jake shook his head, "Not to me." And, standing here, in front of Viola, he knew why. 

Being kind was important, but this social stuff was awkward. He saw no reason, saw no need, to add people to the mix. He liked his life. 

He didn't want to hurt Viola, he just couldn't tell her it was great that she came without checking with Sam. He needed time to do that, to figure out what to say to this person in front of him. He wouldn't have had this problem if Sam had come along, because he always felt more at ease when she was there to understand what he was trying to say. But no, she refused to get involved with the houses.

"But, uh, I don't mind if you come, I'm just going to have to check with Sam and make sure that's cool. She won't mind." Jake looked quickly at Quinn for back-up, and thankfully, found some. 

Quinn gave him a look that said,  _Good try, Jakey._ Jake hoped he was being serious, and not mocking him. He was trying hard. Viola seemed nice, but she was an unknown quantity. 

"Hey." He had a dawning moment of clarity, an idea that sent a flood of relief coursing through his veins. "You can give me your number, and we'll call you back, get it all square to help out."

Viola looked like she was sucking on a lemon. Darrell was ashen as she replied. "You want me to give you my number so your...friend...can call me back?"

"To volunteer, yeah." Jake nodded. Why did she look at him like he was speaking Esperanto? Everyone knew that he hated the phone. He didn't call anybody if he could help it. "She handles all of that, and I won't make that kind of call without her consent." Sam was in charge of the food booth operation once the Ladies' Circle set it up, and she liked knowing who was coming to help when. He knew that she would just want to make sure Viola had a good welcome.

Jake tried to explain, "She'll just want to make sure you get your t-shirt and whatever. We'll drop it off when we come into town, or something, or even if you need a ride to the church."

Herb was helping another customer, because they had been holding up the line. He was moaning about the electronic cash register, and so Viola had to move quickly to help him.

Jake missed the look that she shot Darrell and Quinn when he said 'she'll..." but Jake wasn't stupid. He knew how to read people. 

She scribbled down a number and passed Jake his receipt, with a stoney, disbelieving look on her face. He didn't bother repeating the number back like he'd seen Darrell do a hundred times. He knew well enough from seeing his buddy strike out that the number was false.

He pocketed it, "Thanks, Viola. It was nice seeing you."

_Well, it's no big sin to stick your two cents in_

_If you know when to leave it alone but you went over the line_

_You couldn't see it was time to go home_

_No, no, no, no, no, no, you had to be a big shot, didn't you?_

_You had to open up your mouth_

_You had to be a big shot, didn't you?_

_All your friends were so knocked out_

_You had to have the last word_

_Big Shot_ , Billy Joel

Jake fairly bolted for the parking lot, pushing the door so quickly that the bell barely had time to ring. God, he hated talking to people. That was the most awkward moment of his life. And people did this all of the time? How? Jake felt like he was going to be sick. 

Darrell let out a slow whistle when Quinn started his truck. "What was that?"

Jake ignored his friend's tone. Viola did not want to volunteer but her mother had raised a decent human being, and so had his. He pulled out the receipt from his pocket, "I'll try and call." Maybe Viola would change her mind. She deserved the time to think about it.

"Jake?" Quinn asked, all kidding aside, "Why couldn't you bring Viola without asking Sam?"

"Because it's her project." Jake replied. Furthermore, Jake hated it when people horned in on their plans on Sam's end without her running it by him. He had asked her long ago to check with him before she brought Jen along if they had plans.

This was the same thing. Darrell and Quinn just didn't get it. Checking with Sam about stuff like this wasn't about loving her. It wasn't about anything other than respecting her, and honoring her place in his life. It was about choosing her.

"Because you love her!" Darrell teased, "And you want to have Sam all to your lonesome behind the crates of grape juice and Weetabix in the storage closet while the kids play."

"We watch the kids, idiot." Jake replied, "Would you just shut up?"

Sam was his friend. They were a team, a unit, and a family. Words like that didn't make an ounce of difference to Darrell, who saw the word in other colors, but that word that Ella had given him the ability to understand that their relationship would always be priority.

A man put his family first. Women did, too, but he didn't know what it was like to be a girl. He was just glad that Sam was his family, that he could do that, that he had that role in her life, that place in her world. He didn't know who else would be his family when the time came, but Sam would always be, no matter what.

"Alright, just admit Viola was hot." Darrell said, as though if Jake did that, he would accept Jake as normal again and let the matter drop.

Jake didn't reply. He had no business looking like that at Viola. She was working, doing her thing, not putting herself out there to be objectified. She had the right to go about life without being evaluated like that. He was not out to objectify some woman's body. Darrell said it made him odd, but this conversation was entering into a mire of issues and beliefs he had explored with Ayers over the course of months. It was no business of theirs.

Ayers wasn't surprised that Jake was out as a feminist. What he did find surprising was that that worldview had nothing to do with his mom, or Sam. Ayers also found it rather surprising that Jake, for that same reason, wasn't into magazines or videos.

Jake had let the assumption go on, until the day he was confronted again with it. Feminism wasn't the only reason he didn't like porn. "It's just not that, Ayers." 

"Okay. Why?" Ayers wasn't judging his responses, just trying to understand them. He was, as Jake had come to know, a good man, who was good at his job. Jake, now, today, was much more confident and informed. 

"People aren't objects, and I'm not going to..." Jake trailed off. He wasn't even sure that he wanted to try, at this point, even without the use of materials like Ayers had suggested. He was so afraid that any kind of good fantasy, one that came naturally to him, would turn into a nightmare before he could stop it. 

Ayers suggestion of going outside of his own mind, to start, was not sitting well with Jake. Ayers understood, and pushed the matter. "Are you sure this has nothing to do with your desire to punish yourself for what happened?" 

They'd gone over this for weeks. "It isn't like that." 

Ayers wouldn't let the matter drop. "Maybe, have you considered the idea, that just maybe, you're not punishing yourself for the accident, but because Sam isn't..." 

Jake cut him off, "Just let it go, okay? It's not that." Jake knew that Sam didn't have an ounce of real desire in her system. She wanted to be held, cuddled, touched. There was a difference between intimacy and sexuality, a line they were incredibly careful not to cross. It wasn't like they had just figured out they were both heterosexual. They had that handled, had for years. 

"I just think you need to know, Jake, that the brain is at the root of our sexual experiences." Jake knew that, all too well. Weren't his dreams proof of that? 

Ayers went on when Jake did not reply. "You also need to consider that many people experience different levels and types of sexual need than their partners, which fluctuate over the lifespan. There are ways to cope with that, to embrace those individual needs and desires in ways that affirm people's personhoods, in ways that nurture relationships." Ayers concluded his lecture for the day. "I am curious to understand why you feel the need to deny yourself even the acceptance of your own sexuality." 

"None of it does anything for me, okay?" Jake blurted. He had long worried that there was something wrong with him, that nothing like that, magazines or even the random email or pop-up, did anything for him. In fact, such images made him feel uneasy, disgusted that humanity had sunk this low, that something that was sacred and unique had been propagated into some kind of industry. 

Sometimes, the church, even unwittingly, made it worse, with warnings in youth group and sermons that went on about how men were more visual, but that it was their responsibility to look away, to control their own thoughts and actions. While he had no idea what the girls were told, he did know that the church, or his pastor at least, didn't buy into the 'boys will be boys' thing.

Jake had never been able to tell people that he didn't understand people's concerns. Porn did nothing for him, only made him confused and, sometimes, sad that people he respected bought into it. He thought it was meaningless and rather stupid, rather base. He didn't understand how people could stand to look at the pictures and films without coming to the conclusion that they lived in patriarchy, let alone be aroused by it. 

"Well. That we can work with." Ayers had smiled, and the conversation had moved along.  

Jake ignored Darrell. He was healthy, normal, and if his normal was fairly defined, that was his concern.

Jake shifted, and noticed that Quinn noticed his action and replied with the tilt of his head. Jake was conflicted after that. Right now, though, he missed his psychologists.

Darrell was obviously teasing, "You're such a chicken, Jake." The sun glinted off of his brown hair, nearly blinding Jake.

No, Jake thought, that was his stupidity. His idiocy was blinding.

Quinn took to his defense, which surprised Jake, "Darrell."

"Prove it." Darrell returned. A flash of something dark rose in Jake, and he pulled out his phone and dialed without another word. He planned keep this quiet, but whatever, at least he could prove it, prove it that boring Jake Ely wasn't so vanilla after all.

He would get Matrona to tell them about his plans, and it would shut them up.

"Matrona?" Jake spoke, "Can you tell Quinn about what I'm going to do?"

She wouldn't because she thought he was chickening out. When Jake explained that he wasn't, that he just wanted his brother to know, Matrona simply gave him the number and told him to sort it out like a big boy. 

He didn't have the guy's number in his phone, "I was thinking I could change my appointment..." Now that Quinn was going to know, he would have to tell Sam, too. To do that, he needed the number and it was the only way to get it without explaining more.

He gestured for a pen wildly when Matrona spoke. Darrell tossed one from the floorboard at him, and Jake wrote on his arm.

He wrote the number down and closed his eyes sharply as Matrona said she would call and see if he could come whenever today. This had not been his plan, but it was too late to back out now, "You're sure he won't mind if I come early?" He could hear Matrona grin as she went on about a family discount. Maybe calling her hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

_I've been thinking that you've crossed the line,_

_if you disappeared that would be just fine,_

_'cause you waste my time and waste my money_

_and you're not too cool and not too funny!_

_Don't try to deny 'cause my fuse is ready to blow_

_Its your turn to learn I think that you know where to go_

_It's a shame, shame, shame for you_

_Shame for You_ , Lily Allen

Sam was replying to an email from a grad student wanting to get in touch with Dad when she heard Dallas entering the barn, saying, "I didn't move them."

Sam saved her draft and went to face the music. J.J. and Pepper were denying having left a heap of luggage in the yard. Sam was surprised they'd seen it. They were not very thoughtful or observant.

Dad was standing with Dallas, and J.J., and Pepper. Sam looked out from her office. The blonde man looked confused, and then, shocked to see her there. He wasn't going to toss her out. Nobody was. They were talking heatedly about the bags. Sam cut to the chase, sick of the chit chat. "I moved them."

Sam rolled down towards them, conscious of every eye on her. She was shaking like a leaf inside. She hoped that she came off like Matrona would in this situation. No, Sam thought, better to be herself. 

Dad looked at her, "There is no way you moved those bags."

Sam's blood boiled. She did not need to pretend to be cool and calm, because the ice that shafted through her hurt. Her own father was really and truly and ableist. "I did move them. They needed to be moved, so I did it." She hadn't moved them like other people might have done, but she had made use of her resources and gotten the job done. It was all the same in the end.

Dallas looked proud as hell, and Sam didn't care about anything else. She was filled with a rightness. This idiot needed to learn and he needed to learn fast. It looked like there was no one else to teach him. She didn't relish the job, but she'd do it for the sake of the ranch.

Looking at J.J. she said crisply, "I know you don't move bags, so I decided to help you out."

She dared any of them to come at her. She just dared them. She had done the work of a grown man because he was lazy and thoughtless. Ranch hands had to think and work hard. J.J. here wouldn't last.

He looked dumbfounded. "Why would you touch my stuff?"

Why would he unload his crap in her office? Wasn't that the actual question here?

Sam smiled, forcing a conciliatory look to cross her face. There was pity under the surface. "They were blocking the entry, and the windows. It was a fire hazard. I won't have that in this barn." Sam outlined her expectations quite clearly, "In the future, please keep your gear out of my office. Should you require storage, I'm sure we can get you some space in the bunkhouse attic."

The silence was defining. Sam had forgotten what this felt like, what it meant to take charge of something. Sam had made a mistake, she knew now, in not asserting herself from the start. She did not have to make room for herself. She had to claim what was hers, by rights. 

"I forgot to say the other day: welcome to River Bend, by the way." She ended the conversation pointedly. Sam did not smile. She wanted to do it.

She had just handed this guy his behind, and she knew it. Pepper was grinning widely. Sam couldn't look at him. She was an ice Queen.

She had to turn and roll away as though nothing happened, and not show her hand. She did so quickly, shutting the door behind her. When she sat back down at her desk, then and only then did she allow her whole body to tremble with tension and apprehension.

Her father came in not seven minutes later. Sam did not acknowledge the Wyatt Erp style showdown that had just taken place, "There's a list there for you. There's eleven phone calls you need to make."

Sam was surprised at the work piled before her. She had assumed that woman would be running the ranch now, handling all the of things she had come to do over time. She did not look away from the screen, nor was her voice anything less than businesslike. All of this was for the ranch, after all. It wasn't personal. It wasn't for Dad, not anymore. It was all for River Bend. "I'd start with the grad student from Oklahoma."

"Sammy..." Dad said, "What are you doing out here?" Sam turned to face him. He was standing next to the one freestanding bookcase. His hat was high on his head, but his voice was soft.

She looked around, as if to ask, "Is this not my space?" Sam extended the list. "I wrote down all of the numbers and why they wanted a call. That last guy's shilling stuff, but he keeps emailing."

Dad looked at her warily, "J.J. didn't mean to hurt your feelings, honey."

Sam shook her head, "It's not about my feelings. It's about my rights." The sooner Dad understood that, the better. She had a right to do her jobs around, a right to feel like her space was hers, a right not to have her home stolen, "If he'd like to handle this, he's welcome to do exactly as he pleases with the office."

Dad sighed, "Sam. Your Gram asked you to stay inside and get some rest. You disobeyed her. She left trusting that you would do as she asked, not run around carting luggage like you did. Now, I'm thinking you were in the wrong there."

Sam shook her head, not able to believe what she was hearing. "I don't follow." She really didn't. What was this? She did something that needed doing because his employee was a complete flake and she was the one who got in hot water?

"I've had a word with J.J. He was supposed to move his things, but it was not necessary for you to do it for him." Dad insisted softly. That was his opinion, but Sam didn't have to adopt it as her own.

"I stand by what I did, and why I did it." Sam said, with some finality. "But you can be sure I won't touch his stuff again." If this ever happened again, she'd light his crap on fire with a flamethrower.

_I gave it everything I had and everything I got was bad_

_Life ain't hard but it's too long to live it like some country song_

_Light 'em up and watch them burn, teach them what they need to learn!_

_Dirty hands ain't made for shakin', ain't a rule that ain't worth breakin'_

_Kerosene_ , Miranda Lambert

Quinn grabbed his arm, sharply, as Jake stuck the paperwork back on top of the desk in the tiny shop. "Have you lost your mind? You can't let Darrell goad you into this. You'll regret it." Quinn was looking around the shop, as Jake fished a Starbucks napkin out of his pocket. He was not an artist, but Sam was, and it was easy enough to get her to draw something on a napkin if he hinted.

Quinn goggled at the sight of Sam's work, though he could not see what it was, "You really planned-"

Jake did not have the heart to tell his brother that he had had this trip planned for weeks, and had only showed up a few hours early. He had not mentioned anything to anyone, but Darrell needed to know, and well, Quinn was along for the ride. He'd been perplexed when Jake had pretty much ordered him to drive, and pull into a shop that he had never realized was there.

Jake, for himself, had he realized just how many cousins Matrona had. The world was small, it seemed.

He was cut off by the introduction of a  voice he'd only heard on the phone, "Jake, Cousin Matty said you'd be in early! Glad to meet you." Silas took quick measure of him, and Jake hoped he passed muster when the large man said, "Come on then. We'll get started. I have your email printed out."

The man in front of him had Matrona's eyes, it was uncanny. Matrona's looks were almost mirrored in her cousin.

Darrell broke in like he was warning Silas, "He'll chicken out." Silas' eyebrows rose but he didn't say anything. Jake thought Silas was not the kind of guy whose time you wasted with things like chickening out.

Quinn yanked on Darrell arm, "You shut up now before I kill you." His face was resigned, though his words were harsh.

"Don't kill him in my shop!" Silas called back easily, as he handled brawls all the time and Quinn and Darrell were funny. He shut the door to the small room, "Brothers. God love them." Jake bit back a grin. It was nice to hear someone say the things he did not want to voice aloud.

Jake sat down in the chair that was clearly for him. "Sorry about them." Jake said, trying not to sweat. "I, uh, have a better drawing of my idea..." He'd emailed him a rough drawing of his own weeks ago, but this was obviously better. "Would you...?"

Silas perched glasses on his face and Jake was comforted by the small action. He looked so much like Matrona. Silas nodded, cutting him off, "Look at it? Yeah, sure." He replied, turning away from his pad from where he'd made edits and updates based on their original discussion, "No promises."

Jake smoothed out the napkin, hoping against hope that the browns were still brown and the greens were still as green as they were in his memory. He wished he had taken a picture of it when it had been on his body, but selfies weren't his style.

Jake passed the napkin over.

"Matt's friend drew this." Silas asserted, not bothering to wait for confirmation. Jake's expression must have given away his question because he added, "I recognize the drawing. She's quite fond of your girl, you know. I'm thinking she ought to head up this way, but you know Matrona. If there's not a Gap within two miles, she cries."

Jake hadn't known that, actually. Matrona was used to her comforts but she spent most of the year in Yekaterinburg, or she had before her injury kept her stateside full time. It wasn't surprising that she would be more comfortable around lots of people. Jake exhaled, "What do you think?"

Silas looked at him, "I think if we make the flippers a bit cuter, we're good. It won't be Nemo, but with all the twisting lines, we've got to err on the side of cute or it looks too tribal." Silas paused, "Unless that's your thing."

Jake shook his head, playing it cool. "Not really." He was trying not to look at all of the needles in the room. This was his blood, after all, his blood. 

Silas was at ease as he moved around the small room and got out the stencil paper and began to draw, "It'll come out well, I think. Now, where do you want it?"

Moments later, Jake tried not to hiss as the first needle struck the skin in his chest, above the rapid beating of his heart.

_Oh, why here it's so-so_

_but it is no, no Colorado_

_I miss my home and the cocoa_

_I wanna go home..._

_I wanna go home..._

_I wanna go home..._

_So So_ , Brooke Waggoner

The sweat was rolling off of her body, despite the fact that it was nearly dinnertime and should be cooler than it had been at high noon. Sam hated this. She'd slept Friday and most of Saturday away, almost twenty hours on Friday alone.

Jake had been there every time she'd woken up, with water and steady arms when she stumbled to the bathroom, and a smile when she slammed the bathroom door by accident. She felt like jelly. That was partially the reason she'd taken the chair, and after walking up the hill, she was in pain.

Sam knew that she had to stretch out. Sam called out to Gram, "I'm going to check on the crock-pot."

Gram called out her thanks.

Sam was half-way through the living room when she heard them talking.

The woman was sharing about her day, Sam guessed. Sam tuned her out as a sinking feeling welled within her. There was no space for her within the house. It was Gram's anyway. Even in the past few days, Sam had seen how much being on her own had changed her perceptions of space. It was Gram's house, and it was Gram's rules.

It seemed that that went doubly for the woman, too, because she of no cooking skills was telling Dad how to boil pasta. A two year old could cook pasta, if they were allowed near the water. Sam rolled her eyes, wanting to ignore the feeling inside her that told her the sauce didn't matter.

Still, she told herself that she had to grow up sometime. Sam pushed opened the door, and didn't speak as she picked up the ladle and checked on the sauce. Gram had frozen it when her first set of tomatoes had come in and now, she needed more room in the freezer. "Hello, Sam!" The woman was certainly chipper now that she was all over Dad.

Not two minutes ago she had been complaining about work.

"Hi." Sam returned.

She didn't look up but for a second or deviate from her task. Sam did not get their relationship. She had to grudgingly admit that there was one between the woman and her father, though it seemed wobbly and superficial to her. Sam didn't get the whole thing.

It appeared to her as though Dad and the woman were mere acquaintance. They weren't even friends. Sam did not like even consider other aspects of the relationship, but based on what she saw, there was no love between the two people. She wished she could tell that much of her worry had been for naught. She was closer to Jake than the two people in front of her were, and they were supposedly dating.

Now that she understood that the woman was really and truly just Dad's sort of friend, she was trying to be nicer. She really was. After all, some people had trouble with labeling and defining relationships. She didn't, but that didn't mean she didn't understand people who did. 

Dad didn't have much experience, and it was clear that the woman was one of those girls that always had to have somebody. The woman was probably pushing for more, but so far, she hadn't been given any reason to worry overmuch about what she saw now. It was rational.

Sam looked over the slow cooker, checking her memory, confident that she had in fact turned the crock pot down to low already. She flipped it back to the warming setting. They were going to eat soon, anyhow, if the woman didn't turn the boiling pasta into mush. Sam decided that it was not her problem as she looked at the bubbling pot.

Brynna spoke, breaking into Sam's tasks, "I just turned it up so it would be hot when we ate."

Sam looked down at the steaming lid, "It looks fine to me." After all, if it got too hot after cooking so long it would overcook or become burnt. She pointedly did not turn the knob back up to 'hot' after switching it back to 'warm.'

Sam thought it was settled. Dad spoke, "Better turn it up, Sam." Sam ignored the apologetic note in his voice, mixed with something of an order veiled as a suggestion. It was mitigated by his siding with that woman when Sam clearly knew better. She'd been making meals since she was big enough to stand on a chair and follow Gram's instructions. Sam understood, then. Her father had chosen the woman and it didn't matter what else. She just wanted her home back, but that was clearly never to be.

With defeat and loss churning up inside her, Sam pushed the button. The beep resounded in her mind.

To the victor went the spoils.

_I'm a little let down but I'm not dead_

_There's a little bit more that has to be said_

_I'm a little bit home but I'm not there yet_

_It's one to forgive but it's hard to forget_

_I got two hands, one beating heart_

_And I'll be alright_

_I'm gonna be alright_

_Yeah I got two hands, one beating heart_

_And I'll be alright_

_I'm gonna be alright_

_Girls Chase Boys_ , Ingrid Michelson

Oddly enough, it was the pain that made him think about Viola. It was the same kind of emotion, some kind of mindless desire that what he was feeling was wrong, somehow. Needles and blood made Jake think. Well, actually, it was Darrell, but he wasn't going to give his friend the satisfaction of knowing, nor would he feed Quinn's giant ego with the same information.

All afternoon, he'd been thinking. He kept going over and over it all as Silas worked, pretty much in companionable silence. Why couldn't he make that call without Sam?

Why had he felt so trapped, like there was no air in his lungs, when faced with Viola? Why had he been so frustrated by everyone's inability to see that it was what it was?

In that moment, the universe had given him another choice. He had chosen Sam without thought, or so Darrell said, but why? He knew what the reasons of choosing her were about. He knew that, in choosing her, in putting her first in his life, that he was building the kind of future he wanted, somehow, but not in the way Darrell thought. He had thought all day about a future with some nameless chick, some girl not unlike Viola.

He could see his life easily. There was everything in front of him, easy and fluid. He could meet a nice girl and settle down, be a cop like he'd always wanted. He could spend his life doing the expected thing, have some babies and raise some cattle. Life looked so vanilla. The pieces didn't fit. All of the elements were there, but when he took Sam out of the picture like Ayers tried to ask him to do, the pieces didn't fit.

A life with Viola would be one filled with nothing, filled with joys, but lacking someone to share them with. He didn't have room for Viola. What was he supposed to do, date Viola and then turn to Sam with every worry that rose within his heart?

What was he going to do, when push came to shove? He knew that if Sam needed him, he would be there, and that wasn't fair to some girl. He wasn't going to have choose between his fictional girlfriend, if he got himself around to asking someone out, and Sam. Sam was here, solid, real, and nothing could compare to her influence in his life. Asking him to choose between Sam and having a girlfriend was crazy. It was like saying to someone, "What would you pick if your house was on fire?"

Okay, so maybe that was a bad analogy. It wasn't like they couldn't get themselves out of a burning building, but he knew instinctively whose side he would always take, and that wasn't fair to anybody. It was just that Sam had always been his reason for wanting to do things, from the time he was little. He heard her voice in the back of his head, reminding him to smile and breathe when he talked to people. He heard her encouragements when he had to do something scary. He trusted her. Talking to girls fell under that category, and not for the reasons people assumed.

He didn't see girls like most guys said they did. They were complex people, on the whole, and he never knew how to treat a girl like a girl, whatever that was supposed to mean. He held doors, and whatever, that was the easy bit, but he had never mastered the other things, the things that seemed to matter to people. The idea of pursuing, courtship, eluded him something fierce.

He wanted what he had, someone to fight with and fight for, someone he knew he could trust with the barren bedrock of his soul. He didn't need a girlfriend to have that in his life. That was why he had friends. Life with Sam was worth giving up all of that superficial crap for. What was he supposed to do, pick some girl he didn't know over Sam, like Darrell said, just so he could get off?

Darrell said that he was proving his point when Jake said that was stupid.

Jake didn't know. He knew that this was about more about his future. He couldn't assert that Sam was his family, and then not hold up his end of the deal. He had to be honest, even if he didn't know what it all meant, and tell her that he had changed his mind. He had to tell her about his job changing, about all the strange thoughts he was having. She would make everything seem sensible, she would see the thoughts in his heart that even Jake could not.

He knew he would never be able to tell Darrell what his tattoo was, not that he would get the significance.

Quinn would, though. Quinn would see it, and then he would assume things. But it wasn't about that, wasn't about Sam, not like that. It was simply that Jake had come to see that he was who he was, that he knew himself, and could trust himself to stay centered in hard times, even if he used a friendship that everyone else saw as messed up to do it. That's all the turtle really meant, to him. This afternoon was a moment of acknowledgement of how far he had come over the last few months, even if his day hadn't turned out like he'd planned, because he was trusting his own sense of rightness, no matter what anyone said.

He hoped Sam was still asleep, and fired off a text when Silas took a break.

The turtle had so many meanings, but for Jake, the turtle was about staying centered, staying grounded. He knew a story that said the world had been borne on the back of the turtle. While Jake was more inclined to think that God had created or set off the big bang, he understood that meaning to be symbolic.

He was a persistent guy, and no matter what, he would continue of the path he had chosen, the path that he wanted, even if he did not understand the feelings that came along with that sense of destiny, of rightness. The turtle that was taking shape on his chest was about him reminding himself to listen to himself and follow his own path.

_Don't try to plan me or understand me_

_I can't stand to be understood_

_I could never give in to or ever live up to_

_Being like you think I should_

_I've got some inner need which I'm trying' to heed_

_I can't take hand-me-down destiny_

_Let Me Be,_  The Turtles

Sam tried not to feel anything when they sat down to meal of noodles that looked like mushy gloop and sauce that was overcooked. It wasn't her problem. It was Dad's house and there was no space here for her. Both the barn and the house were out.

Jake had called her, and said to keep him a plate, that the last touches on one of the bathrooms in the house was something he couldn't walk away from. Sam wasn't going to feed him this crap, not with her name attached to it. They'd eat something better later.

Sam pushed up her sleeve, under the table and ran her fingers over the bear. He was a comfort to her, a grounding focus in the middle of all of this. At least the way she stimmed was easily hidden. It was a small mercy that she thanked her brain for on a daily basis. No one would know, unless, of course, she told them. 

Her hand darted out quickly to save the salad dressing from tumbling over as Gram accidentally knocked into it. "Thanks, honey." Gram said, relief at the salvation of her tablecloth clear on her face.

Sam nodded, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What's that?" The woman asked, conversationally.

Horror flooded Sam as Dad's eyes zeroed in on the bear on her wrist, the one that had just unconsciously fixed her hair.

Sam was forced to answer honestly. Dad knew, could see. "My tattoo." She tried to brush it off easily. It was no big deal. Dad knew she had a tattoo, but did not know what it was or where it was. This was not the first time in her life she was glad of his 'don't ask, don't tell' approach to some of her choices.

"I thought it was on your hip." Dad said, slowly, "That doesn't look like a butterfly to me." The anger on his face was clear. The table suddenly seemed too small, as emotions were filling the space.

Sam did not reply and defend her choices. There was nothing to defend. It was her body, her choices alone governed it. "I like it." Sam turned over her wrist carefully. The cat was out of the bag, and Dad might as well as see her design. She was rather proud of the artistry.

"Of course you do!" Dad replied, looking at her with fire in his eyes, "You've gone and branded yourself!"

"I have not!" Sam cried. "How dare you!" Her bear was a work of art, not a brand, and it certainly wasn't Jake's brand. He had his own for showing, as some people did, and this work of art was clearly not that. She had never even considered using her own brand. Why in the fucking hell would she use his? Her bear had nothing to do with Jake. 

She was a person, not some bit of livestock. The assertion was hurtful. She didn't belong to anyone but herself, number one, and number two, the bear had very little to do with Jake. His influence upon it was almost nil, and he had not entered into her choice in the way her father obviously assumed.

"Samantha." Dad said, that warning note in his voice. She wasn't five anymore. She couldn't take this back. There was nothing anyone could do or say. Sam took comfort in that bit of permanency. 

Gram intervened, carrying the dishes to the kitchen. "Wyatt. You have company." Sam was glad for once, of her her Gram's focus on image, on maintaining appearances. Their family was shot to bits, but Gram didn't want the woman to know.

Sam didn't see why that mattered. The woman had had a hand in this after all. Dad left the room, and the door slammed angrily behind him. 

"Don't worry about your father, Sam. I think it's sweet." Brynna scrambled to cover her tracks, as they cleared the leftover food from the dishes into the trash in the kitchen. "Every girl goes through this. I know with my first crush and boyfriend I..."

Sam could not hold her tongue. This clinging, simpering, fool was telling her about relationships? Who was she to say one word about relationships? She was dating another woman's husband. 

Who was she to comment on anything that she decided was normal or abnormal? Furthermore, she did not have a crush on Jake. The very idea was completely insane. "You keep your nose out of our relationship, do you hear me, Brynna?" Sam yanked the napkin out of the breadbasket and put it aside to be washed. She did not look away from the woman. If she understood one thing, it would be this. "You know nothing if you think Jake's my boyfriend."

Gram was silent.

A beat passed, and Brynna spoke, "I apologize, I just assumed the tattoo changed things."

"Changed what, so I can cling and simper?" Sam put a few dishes in the sink, disgusted by all of the ruined food. What an absolute waste of resources. "So I can get my way and ruin a meal when I clearly don't know anything because I've got somebody to give me my way?" Sam scoffed, and squirted soap over the caked on sauce in the crock pot.If that was how Brynna defined relationships, Sam wanted no part of one. "No thanks."

Sam made the mistake of really looking at Brynna. A look of hurt crossed the woman's face. Sam wasn't out to hurt people, and felt remorse. Sam inhaled, "Look. That was low of me. I'm sure you're...competent. I don't know you."

Sam's words were sincere, and so were Brynna's. "Thanks for the apology." Brynna put the dishes in the sink, "But you don't care to know me, do you?"

Sam was honest. "Not really." She looked around to see if Gram was there, for some kind of backup, some kind of excuse to leave. She wasn't. She and Brynna were alone.

"It's just hard for me, you know." Brynna said, spilling her guts all over the place. Sam did not care what was hard for her or not, but she was intent on talking as the worked, "I mean, you think I'm sticking my nose in, a simpering little girl. I get it."

Sam did not think she did, but she wasn't going to correct her.

Brynna stopped working and looked at Sam, the counter cleaner sitting untouched, "But what you don't understand is that I'm not mocking what you have with Jake. I'm just asking for the chance to develop that with your father."

Sam was confused. She stopped scraping the dishes, and made her point for the millionth time. "Jake and I are friends."

Brynna spoke as though she were confiding in a friend, "All I am saying is that many people would kill for a fraction of what you have with Jake with someone. I think your father and I could have a shot at it, you know."

"You already have what you want." Sam said. The woman was clearly lording her victory of Sam. "There's no great secret. Dad chose you, standing here." Brynna looked confused. Sam filled her in, "The pasta sauce. I said it was done. You disagreed, and he sided with you. That's all a friendship is."

Brynna looked befuddled, but then smiled, "Sam. Why don't you ask yourself why your father took my side? It wasn't because he trusts my opinion, or because he believed that I was right, or any other reason like that. He asked you to turn it back up because we'd just had words about my helping with the dinner."

They hadn't been talking about work? Hadn't she been going on about how hard it was to learn and keep up? Cooking wasn't hard at all. It was relaxing and easy, when she could get to the stove. Sam's back twinged, but she didn't move. "I don't..."

"I'm not a good cook." She admitted, somewhat sheepishly, "You are, and your Gram is, and your father goes on and on about it, and I thought I could, you know, show off a bit. It was foolish but I was angry and my pride was hurt. Your father was standing by his word."

"Don't you get it?" Sam exclaimed, wishing she could make this woman understand how well and truly she had hooked Dad. Sam knew that she had badly misjudged the situation and would have to reevaluate it, when Sam could breathe, "That's all it is! You give your word, and it's done. I don't know why you're making some big deal about it."

"Motivations matter. Just think about it." Brynna matched Sam's exasperation, "Relationships are unique because the emotions behind them are unique. Why does a person choose another person? Why do they give their word?"

Blood started to rush in Sam's ears. How could she have been so stupid? Dad loved the woman. He chose her when he had no other reason to choose her. He chose her because she was who was she was.

Sam stood there, dumbfounded. As realizations crashed upon her like a tsunami, she did the thing she was second best at now, and got away as fast as she could, scrambling to be anywhere else on unsteady feet. Brynna was left standing in a kitchen filled with burned food.

_What is this feeling so sudden and new?_

_I felt the moment I laid eyes on you_   
_My pulse is rushing, my head is reeling, my face is flushing_   
_What is this feeling, fervid as a flame?_   
_Does it have a name? Yes!_   
_Loathing! Unadulterated loathing!_   
_Let's just say I loathe it all._   
_Every little trait however small,_   
_makes my very flesh begin to crawl with simple utter loathing._   
_There's a strange exhilaration in such total detestation._

_It's so pure, so strong! Though I do admit it came on fast, still I do believe that it can last_   
_and I will be loathing, loathing you my whole life long_

_What is this Feeling?_ Wicked

Sam ended up sitting in the front seat of the car she could no longer drive, around the back of the house. A Ford wasn't much, but it was hers. It was the only place on the ranch that was solely hers.

She loved her car and she wanted to put her foot on the gas and drive and drive. Sam turned down the air because the sound of the system was grating on her mind. Everything was so loud. No, Sam decided, she was too sensitive. She could ever hear the lights in school as they roared above her head. Sam gripped the steering wheel tightly. Her stomach was churning and her eyes were heavy. She knew her fever was back.

She didn't care. Let the world burn, and may she go down with it.

Sam sat, thinking over how she could have been so blind. Of course Dad loved the woman. Of course. It was the only thing that made any sense.

Sam's eyes were shut when there was a tap on the car door. Sam pushed the unlock button and felt the burst of heat as Gram settled in the front seat with a plate, "I brought you some cake, Sammy."

Sam didn't take the plate Gram set on the dash. She was going to throw up. "Maybe later, okay?" Sam tried to smile, "I'm pretty stupid, aren't I?"

"Sammy, you're the smartest girl I know." Gram said, brushing a bit of her hair behind her eyes, "You couldn't be more wonderful."

"No." Sam's eyes filled with tears. She wanted to believe that, but she couldn't. She was the stupidest person alive for not seeing it. "He loves her, and all I can think about is myself. I feel abandoned, alone, and I feel angry. I feel like he's hurting Mama, and I hate that because I feel like he's putting her in the ground every time he so much as looks at that woman. I hate him for what he's done to this ranch, to my life. I hate him, and I hate her, and I feel like I'm bleeding to death inside and there's nothing to make it stop. I..." Sam's rambling came to a stop. "That's not a wonderful person's reaction, is it? I should be more hospitable."

"I'm not exactly thrilled with the state of my kitchen right now, honey. But Sammy, the fact that your father is..." Gram paused.

Sam knew she'd paled harshly when Gram changed her words, "Sometimes, when you're so happy, it's hard to see people in pain, and sometimes, when you're in pain, it's hard to see people being happy."

Sam knew that her Gram expected some kind of a reply, "I don't know."

"He can't replace Lou." Gram said, looking at Sam for a long moment. She seemed to be debating something, and so Sam tried to stay still under the heavy, knowing, gaze, "Every year he takes you to the cemetery, and then, he comes home. What do you think he does after you go to bed, honey?"

"Goes to bed himself." Sam deadpanned.

When Gram looked hurt, Sam replied honestly, "I don't know."

"He writes your mother a letter." Gram revealed in the way that Sam knew she was never to repeat this or let on that she even knew such a thing went on, "He writes her a letter, and he tells her what an amazing person you are, and all the things she's missed in the last year of your life, and how much he misses her, all the times he's thought about her. I don't know what all he says, I only saw drafts in the recycling one year..."

Gram whispered, tears in her own eyes, "But then, he goes outside, and he lights the letter on fire, and releases it to the wind. I've seem him near to light his hand on fire because he won't let go of the last wisps of the paper. Sometimes, he cries, sometimes he looks so angry at the world, and sometimes he just looks like a man worn down by loss and pain. And I..."

Gram cleared her throat painfully, "And I stand in the kitchen window, and I watch my son watch the wisps of smoke and the blackened paper, and I watch him long to go with them. You can't replace that, baby."

Sam was on the verge of tears. Her throat was painfully tight, and aching. She could see her windblown father standing on the land he'd poured his soul into, see him staring into the dark expanses of forever. That day was tough for them both.

Sam often cut school, and made the drive. Dad tried to be positive for her sake, tried to talk about all of the happy times, tried to tell Sam he thought she would want to know about her mother. His stories to her were always contextualized with stories of Louise as her mother.

Never once had he mentioned that he had his own ritual. The day, she realized, were about her loss, but the nights were about his own personal loss, the loss of a love that Sam hadn't seen, hadn't felt. "What'd he do this year?"

"He got drunk and cried after he wrote a letter telling his wife that he'd failed their child." Gram replied, her throat raw. Sam's gripped the front of her skirt. Gram revealed more than Sam ever thought she would, "I've seen him drink three times in his life. The night of his bachelor party, the week after your mother died, and...well. He wanted it all to end. He had nothing left. You were with Sue, and your mother..."

"He has her now." Sam countered brokenly, half hurt that his pain was being healed by that woman, and half hating herself that that fact didn't make her happy, "No more letters. No more tears. Not even a little bit of need for me. She'll live in this house, and marry him, and have..."

Gram cut her off, looking at Sam with only the understanding Gram possessed. "Never."

"Yes she _will_." Sam insisted, "You'll see and I.."

Gram shifted around in the tiny focus, and Sam wanted to make sure she was heard, "You'll see."

Gram would see. Dad's life was changing in ways he wanted. Hers was out of control, but he would have a good kind of new life. Her new life wasn't one of her choosing, but his was. He would have a new family.

"Sam, listen to me." Gram insisted.

Sam did not make eye contact. She wanted to believe Gram, but she knew better. "I'm not saying he won't date her. I'm not saying he won't bring her to dinner, and whatever else comes along. I'm not saying you won't have to paste a smile on when you're screaming inside, but I swear on my soul that you will never be replaced, never for one second will you be second fiddle to anyone or anything in your father's life."

Gram didn't get it. Gram just didn't get it. It wasn't about being loved or even cared about. She did not know what everything meant, but she knew that this whole situation was not as simple as Gram was making it,"He seems keen on her."

"Yes, because he likes her." Sam looked up sharply at Gram's use of 'like' and not 'love.' Gram continued, "He likes her. I'm not going to sit here and devalue the role she's playing in his life, because it's good to have friends, honey, people to talk to about things."

Sam didn't know what to say to that. She could not disagree, but she also did not think that Dad and Brynna were friends. Clearly, they loved each other. "She thinks she knows me."

"She also thinks she knows how to make pasta." Gram's tone was wry, "I wouldn't let Brynna Olsen worry you. You have bigger fish to fry."

Sam didn't really think so, not at the end of it. Family was the thing she put first in her life. Her fingers traced the bear. "Yeah, what?"

Gram noticed the movement because, like Jen, she saw everything. "Want to talk about that bear, there?"

"It's nothing, really." Sam murmured. After a beat she added, "I'm not sleeping with Jake."

"I wasn't born yesterday, Sam. I know that much." Sam was relived at Gram's acceptance of the honest truth. She wasn't sleeping with Jake in anything other than the literal sense. "What I don't know is why you run away every time someone says you love him. You do, you know. There's no shame in loving somebody, even when that love isn't romantic."

"I never said I don't love him." Sam returned, the rightness of the statement hitting her only as the words left her mouth, "It's just, nobody gets it. Do you ever think I'm going to sit here and wonder if he likes me and thinks I'm pretty and wants to go to homecoming?"

Gram smiled at Sam's comparison of her and Jake to average teenagers. It was a heartbreakingly funny image in Sam's mind. They had never been like that, and the accident had ripped any hope of that away from them. "No, because you know very well what that boy thinks of you, and I've plum given up on ever getting you to a dance."

Sam added, "It just hurts when people say I have a crush on him, because that's just so stupid." It was stupid and meaningless, a fraction and a pale imitation of the truth and the depth of her emotions.

Crushes were fleeting and based in hope and joy, not the truth and the honesty of what they knew about each other. It was hard to crush on a guy who you knew very well ate cereal out of a mixing bowl and was stubborn and jealous of his brothers.

"It's stupid to you, Sammy." Gram corrected, "For other people, that's the very best of emotion, the strongest thing they'll ever feel."

Sam sighed.

Gram replied, "I know, Sammy. It makes no sense, but it's true. You might know one day."

"I'm not going to give up my friends for some guy, Gram." Sam corrected. Sam knew that her words were not exactly what Gram expected to hear when she replied.

Gram smiled softly, "Whoever said a thing about giving up your friends? Lands, Sammy." The older woman sat in silence for a moment. She began again briskly, "Speaking of, what have you decided about school?"

Sam stuck out her chin, dared Gram to chide her, "I'm going."

"Alright, I'll let Max know, if you don't, to expect you next week." Gram assented, looking across the center console at Sam, "She'll bring your work home."

"No, Gram. I'm going the day after tomorrow." Sam corrected softly. The words hit home quickly and Gram's eyes widened. Cutting her off, Sam added desperately, "I have to do it. I just have to, and..." Sam stopped, "Look, if my fever is gone, I'm going."

She was unable to explain her reasoning. It seemed so easy to think everything she thought about going forward, but harder to say it, and even harder still to put it in action. Gram looked uncertain, but nodded. "Well, then, we better get you healthy. Come on inside and go on up to bed. This afternoon's been hard enough."

Gram took her cake back inside, and Sam was left staring at her faint reflection in her the mirror. Sam knew that the cake had been a mere ploy to come talk to her, and was glad of it. Gram had forgotten a fork.

_He pushed me 'round, now I'm drawin' the line_

_He lived his life, now I'm gonna go live mine_

_I'm sick of wastin' my time_

_I'm on a mission to make something happen_

_Do a little mattress dancin'_

_That's right I said mattress dancin'_

_Need a little bit more_

_of what I've been missin'_

_Sin Wagon_ , The Dixie Chicks

Jake knew he could have used the front door. He knew that he could have tried to dig around for the spare key. He knew it, but still, he climbed the tree. His chest was aching from the exertion, but it seemed a shame to turn down a chance to scale a tree when the window was open.

Jake threw his bag inside, and watched as it landed on Sam's floor. She didn't react, so Jake tried to be quiet as he clambered inside.

He was dusting off his jeans carefully when Sam spoke from the bed. She was alert, but obviously sleepy, "You just threw the Holy Writ."

Jake grinned, taking in her tousled hair and the half sipped tea by the bed. The light was bright in her room, and Jake quoted, "The Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." Jake yanked off his shoes quickly.

Sam seemingly understood that he'd tossed the bag in here to announce himself somehow.

Jake was glad he'd already gotten ready for bed over at Three Ponies, and that Witch was settled in with Ace. Toeing off his socks, he was ready to sleep. Sam didn't even have to look his way to scold him, "If you don't want to eat those socks in your sleep, you will put them into your shoes."

Jake didn't bother picking them up. He'd be up first anyhow. Jake flipped out the light, turned on the fan, and lowered the window. "Sam?" Every bit of stress he'd felt at talking to her about all of this faded away as she simply pulled back the covers.

He could do this. Jake breathed deeply, inhaling her soft scent, the one that was concentrated by the blankets. The nerves he had felt coming here faded away the second he saw her smile. "Seriously, we need to talk."

"Okay." Sam replied, rolling over. She ended up as she mostly aways did, hogging the bed and somehow in his space at the same time. "We're going to end up on the floor." Jake didn't mind that possibility a bit. Neither did Sam, because she just tucked around him, and waited expectantly.

There was such trust in her expression that what he planned to say changed, before he even knew it. He spoke aloud, "The thing is...I mean..." That fell flat, and so Jake was honest. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start with anything." Sam said, borrowing a phrase from Ella's playbook. At least she didn't ask about the weather. Jake laced his fingers through hers, felt the beat of her pulse.

"I, uhm." Jake tried again, and felt the words rush forth. "The thing is, I don't want to be a cop anymore."

Nothing changed. Sam simply said, "Okay." She didn't tense, or get that angry wrinkle in her nose or pull her hand away. Her eyes were as green as ever. There was no hint of bottle green in the deep moss of her eyes.

"Okay?" Jake wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. That wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting, to say the least. For so long, she'd been supporting him in his dreams of being a cop, and she seemed cool with that dream being gone. He wished he could feel the same way.

She nodded, her bangs fluffing up in the heat and with the movement against the side of the pillows. "Okay. We'll find you something else to do."

"That's it?" Jake had to admit that he was taken aback. She'd gone along with this like he wanted some other kind of food. This change was going to mean a lot for both of them.

"What do you want, tears and sackcloth?" Sam replied, softly, "I'm not Max."

Jake continued on bravely, mindful of the twinge of pain in his skin. She wasn't his mother, thank God, and if he could tell her this, he could do anything. "That's not all."

"Alright, let's hear it. Lay it on me." Sam joked, "If you've decided to become a rodeo clown, I am not going to be happy. Nascar, too. I might not be adverse to the whole astronaut gig, but they would cut into vacations. Plus, I hear the space diet is really awful and with you being picky, I just don't think it would work."

"I don't want to be anything like that." He returned, glad that she understood. Being a cop had been a childhood dream, one that had lasted a bit longer than wanting to be a Nascar driver or anything like the other ones. It was okay, she promised, to grow to change."What am I, seven?"

Sam frowned, "Oh, God. Not Roy." She begged, "Not Roy!" Sam grinned and nearly kicked him in her effort to push up on her elbow and look at him. Jake put a hand on the small of her back, and helped her to turn over fully.

The cotton of her nightgown tangled with his legs, "I know you always wanted to be Roy Rogers, but I'm afraid he's one of a kind."

"Sam." Jake had to keep this going, or he would never get the rest of this out.

She sobered quickly, all teasing leaving her demeanor. "It's serious, then?" She was studying him carefully, as though making up her mind to test a theory.

Jake admitted the truth softly, "Yeah."

Sam looked right back at him, clearly waiting for him to continue on with what he was going to say. Her knees started to dig into him with impatience, so he got to saying what he wanted to, while running a hand over the inside of her knee.

Sam relaxed, and Jake breathed. After a moment of staring at each other, he spoke, "I, uh, might want to go to Med School."

"You might or you do?" Sam challenged, far too serious consider that they were basically tangled up together, "There's a difference there. Let's explore that, shall we?"

Why, Jake thought, did they put a reporter into counseling? She had too many skills now. He wasn't sure what that said about him that he so easily confessed, "I want to go to medical school."

She smiled, and he knew exactly what it said about her belief in him and his abilities. She continued on, pressing him to process this revelation, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, in a gesture of comfort. "And what do you want to do at medical school?"

"Sam..." This Ella impersonation thing was getting creepy. It was like being in bed with Ella's clone. Jake knew that Sam wanted him to own what he was telling her, but he had more to say. He had to tell her about the tattoo, and then they could hash this all out. He wanted all of his cards on the table.

She gave him a look. Jake tried to distract her by varying the pressure and location of his touch, but it didn't sway her all that much.

Her eyes closed, and her head dropped forward into the crook of his neck, but the grip of her fingernails told him that she had not lost the thread of his conversation despite his half-hearted efforts.

He capitulated, "Fine. I want to be a doctor." He wanted to somehow mess up his whole life, every plan he'd ever made, to change his switch his major and his minor around, and somehow get enough shadow hours to be a med student, in order to be a intern and a resident, and then be a doctor of some kind, working to pay off student loan debt that his children would have to take on, somehow.

He wanted to throw it all into the wind, but somehow it felt right. He knew what he wanted to do, knew that his time in San Francisco had shaped that desire, but that was okay, because he trusted it.

Sam grinned widely, interested and focused. "What kind of doctor?"

Sam tried to move her hands down onto his chest and push up to sitting, so as to stare down at him. Clasping her hands, so she didn't feel the gauze before he told her on hurt him on accident, Jake guided them down onto her own hips. Her eyebrow went up, as the movement caused the shoulder of her nightgown to slip off of her shoulder, revealing pale skin and the upper swell of her breast. 

"Hey, no distractions." She rolled her eyes for a fraction of a second. She didn't fix her top though, and Jake let his hand slide over her shoulder. 

Jake shook his head, not ready to tell her that he was strongly considering either emergency medicine or neurology after med school. He knew she would think it was about her, but really, those were the kinds of specialties he thought were most helpful to people. He was leaning towards the ER at the end of it all, because trauma care was needed out here. "Why are you cool with this?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Sam asked. Jake inhaled, trying to keep focus as Sam moved to the left, easily left her spot on top of him.

Her nightgown got all bunched and he helped her to free it, and get untwisted from the top sheet. Once she was where she wanted to be against the headboard, she added, "I trust you to know what you want, and if you want to go to med school, you're going to go. Though I would appreciate if you didn't take off with the charge nurse after I do all of the hard work of getting you through it."

"Ugh, Ratched." Jake said, thinking of that awful charge nurse, as Sam held him closer. "Why'd you have to bring her up?"

"It's important to fully consider a situation, your available choices, and all their possible outcomes." Sam quoted Ella with a laugh. "No, but seriously. I'm sure you'll pick someplace nice. You've got a lot to do between now and your application cycle, though. Have you made a list?" She asked, "You know, you could get Jen to help you make one. She's very prepared."

"I'm sure." Jake said, dryly, Jen had had a Vet School list since she was 12, but he had done enough on his own to figure it out with Jen getting involved. "Sam. Aren't you a tiny bit...worried?"

Jake was worried himself. The commitment of time, energy, and money this was going to take was astronomical, not to mention the money he would not earn when he had to decline the internship with Ballard and pick up one somewhere else, shadowing a doctor or augmenting his major somehow to be more attractive to the cutthroat admissions process. Plus, he started to sweat when he thought about his mother's reaction to the news. She was barely warmed up to the idea of the internship.

"No..." She said slowly, "Why should I be?" Her face went ashen, "I'm coming, too. This isn't your way of telling me you plan to go without me because there are colleges, usually, around med schools."

Jake found himself nearly buried under and avalanche of woman and blanket. There were fix or six layers of soft blankets between them. Jake spat out of a knitted tassel from an orange blanket, "Relax, you're going to suffocate me."

"Good." Sam replied, trying to move, "Suffocated boys don't make dumb choices."

Somehow they set themselves to rights without pulling the sheet off the bed or alerting the entire house to his presence there. When Sam was composed again, and Jake wasn't worried about choking on a cat hair covered blanket, he corrected her assumption,"I meant, aren't you worried about what Mom will say?"

Sam shook her head, "Nah, she'll just say 'Look! Look here at my son the doctor! Have you met my son, the doctor?' It'll take time, but she'll get there." She promised, with a hesitant look spreading over her face at her next words. "It's going to be a long road, Jake, and pretty thankless. You've thought about this?"

"Yes." He had thought about little else for some time. He knew that like the turtle tattoo, it might look like it had happened quickly, but really, it hadn't, not really. Things just came out quickly, no matter how long they had been there, waiting in the wings.

They were silent for a time. Jake was going to bring up the turtle when Sam spoke suddenly, "I'll go anywhere." Sam decided, "Except the suburbs. The suburbs are creepy. I think random people bring cookies to your house and you have to like, invite them in, and be nice."

"You're strange, sometimes." Jake said, understanding what she meant. He hoped that San Francisco was alright with her, because honestly, that's where his search for schools in a year and half had been focused. "I'm not even sure I'll get in anywhere."

"I'm not!" Sam cried, "And don't talk like that. You'll see."

Jake was again humbled by her confidence, "You can be." He disagreed, "But thanks, for believing in me."

Sam brushed him off, "Hey, I was sold on the astronaut thing." The conversation ended on a high note as Sam flipped off the lamp, obviously deciding that their path was set and the conversation was over.

Sliding down into the bed, she made a funny sound against him that sounded something like a laugh. "So guess what I heard today?"

"Hm?" Jake's heart race. Quinn and Darrell had blabbed about the tattoo. He just knew it had to be them, or Matrona. He didn't want it to look like he hadn't told her. It just wasn't a big deal. It was simply his way of marking the end of the chapter and keeping centered.

"I heard you got yourself a date with Herb's granddaughter, Viola." Sam fluttered her eyelashes against the side of his face, and whispered in his ear. Her whisper was hoarse with something he couldn't quite define, laughter and something nonchalant. "And I heard that she's quite the looker. Legs up to her fantastically rounded glorious..."

Jake decided that he was going to get her back for teasing him like that. The underside of her calves were sensitive, and it was easy enough to use that information to his advantage.

Sam's breathing hitched as Jake used his foot to good effect, "ears..."

Jake couldn't bite back a smile as her nails dug into the front of his shirt, below the line of tape. Her fingers knotted in the hem of his gray t-shirt. "Quinn or Darrell?"

"Darrell." Sam replied, mumbling her words into his left ear, "Listen. If you like her..."

Jake felt the vibrations of her words, but they weren't the ones he expected. She knew better than to expect that he would like somebody he'd spoken to for ten seconds. He'd spent years around lots of people he only tolerated out of proximity. "I don't like her. I don't know her."

"You could get to know Viola if you wanted to know her, if you tried." Sam returned, hooking her feet around his. How she could spend all afternoon in this bed and still have icy feet amazed him. 

He was also amazed at her confidence in him, what she saw in him. She had to know that he could barely eek out of sentence to most girls. And yet, she thought that he was confident and capable and that Viola would jump at the chance to know him. 

Jake felt like she was ruining those moments before he fell asleep with all this talk of Viola. Still, she went on, as though they were talking about the fact that there were no granola bars in the glove box of the Scout because Darrell had discovered them and eaten all of them out of spite. "I'm not going to get all funky if you decide it's time for you to get a girlfriend or whatever."

"I can't even so much as look at her without sticking my foot in my mouth." Jake grumbled, yanking his pillow down. Sam laughed at him, and he glared at her. "Sam, go to sleep before you stop being silly and start sounding insane."

Sam smiled in the darkness. Jake felt it as keenly as he felt the small marks of wheel burn on her fingers as she wrapped his arm about her. It was only after Sam decided to yank the covers and mumble something about space that he didn't catch that that Jake woke up enough to recall that he hadn't told her about the turtle. Jake figured tomorrow would come soon enough and didn't wake her up.

_Sleep_

_They want to watch, to watch each other_

_Sleep, sleep, sleep_

_They want to watch, to watch each other_

_Sleep, sleep, sleep_

_They want to watch, to watch each other_

_Sleep, sleep, sleep_

_Dance Anthem of the 80s,_  Regina Spektor


	20. Come a Little Closer

_Dream walkin', pillow talkin'_

_She's callin' my name again_

_Day's breakin' I ain't wakin' up, I'm sleepin' in_

_I'm on a roll now, I gotta know how this dream ends_

_Dream Walkin,_ Toby Keith

Sam was prepared Monday morning for a fresh start. Her clothes had been set out the night before, her lunch was in the fridge, and her bag was by the door. All of the efforts in advance had depleted her stores of energy, but Sam was hopeful that a good night's rest was all she needed to set everything to rights.

Sam woke up to find Jake gone. He'd come this morning before heading off to parts unknown with his brothers for ranch work. Sam was jealous of his activities, and was rattled that she expected to find him there with her. Waking up alone was a horrible feeling, one that left her instantly awake, given what she knew now.

She knew why she was so uneasy in old places. They weren't her spaces anymore, because her senses had changed. It was a heavy realization. She felt as though the core of who she was had changed, because every bit of information she was getting from the world around her was new.

She'd figured it out Saturday night. Jake had something to do with her space in the world. He had something to do with the space that she'd been looking for. It couldn't be found in a place, in the barn, or even in the house. Her space was wrapped up in what she felt with him, somehow, some way, some way she could not yet explain.

It made her stomach tighten to finally have a way to understand all of the feelings she felt. Sam yawned. It would be so easy to float off to sleep again, thinking about Jake's touch, warm and relaxing, thinking about his touch and his scent on the pillows. It was late summer and the morning felt cool. She wished he were here so that she could see the silly expression on his face when she woke him up.

There came a tap at the door. "Sam, time to get dressed for school." Gram was knocking. This was her third time awake this morning. Jake had woken her to take her pills and she had staggered to the bathroom a few minutes before that point.

"Mhmm..." Sam mumbled, and swung her feet out to meet the floor.

She had to grab her bedpost to keep from falling over. The aching muscle tightness that spread through her left her breathless. Sam made her way to her dresser, and held tight to the top as she wrestled with the drawers to find underthings.

She hadn't wanted to set those out. She vaguely recalled living a life wherein changing her underpants was not an Olympic event. She was worn out after three minutes of twisting with the oatmeal colored fabric.

Sam wrestled with the microfiber fabric, took one look at her nylons, and flopped back in bed. She would go bare-legged, and if somebody had a problem with it, they could deal. She thought better of going back to bed after a moment and put on a bra and a tank top, not even caring that the straps and band were twisted.

Jake was off working. She couldn't expect him to stay, just to slide his long fingers under the fabric of the band and help it to settle over her skin, moving perfectly, even though he couldn't see his task under the shirt.

She did not have the right to expect those things. 

The top was quickly added, though Sam left the front hanging open. Her skirt, she decided, skirt would be thrown on before she had to walk out of the door. She fell back asleep with her 3/4 sleeved tunic doubling as a nightdress, trailing down over the tops of her thighs.

Sam slept. She heard, distantly, Gram come in, and fuss over her, making sure her feet were covered.

Sam pulled her blankets over her head. Gram added another blanket and swept out of the room, a cloud of flour and pine sol following after her. The scents made her wheeze. 

Sam pulled her pillow over her head when Gram came in again. She was intent on speaking, on giving Sam an easy out, "Sam. Are you well enough for school?"

It would be fine with Gram if she said no, if she stayed home. Max was in agreement with Gram, and Sam would meet no resistance if she opted out today. The idea was tempting. 

She lifted her head, "I'm exhausted."

Thinking better of honesty, she quickly sat up. "I'm fine."

Yesterday had been a tough day, but what else was new? She wanted this chance more than anything. She was not going to give up without a compelling reason to make a change, no way, no how.

She took Gram's hand, and scooted forward, "Can you reach my skirt?" Sam was beyond caring about asking for help, at least in this moment. Gram helped her to slide in on in a fraction of the time it would have taken Sam, and she was soon heading downstairs. The slim skirt hugged what was left of her legs and gave way at the hem, providing a streamlined contrast to the floaty top.

Sam excused herself to go brush her teeth and fumbled with the ties that would shut her wrap top, the thin inner tie and then the outer knot. She didn't bother to make it a bow, though Gram insisted in retying it correctly, and did it so tightly that Sam swore the tie was up against her ribs.

Sam sat down at the table and tried to eat her toast, "I look like Marcia Brady in 1962, don't I?" Her teeth were not minty, so she was able to sip her orange juice easily. The pills went down the hatch by rote. Sam put the case back by the sugar bowl on the table. She still hated the sight of it.

Gram sipped her coffee, "Geometrics like that weren't in for another decade, Sam. You like nice. Your hair is all over the place, though."

Sam went to fix her hair, and discovered that she had to leave.

Jen, after finding out how awful the bus was for Sam, had insisted that she be allowed to drive Sam's car into the school. She swore it would prove her to be responsible enough for her own car to Lila and Jed, though privately Sam wondered if she was only saying that to help Sam save face.

Sam heard Silly come into the yard, and she went to the door, and grabbed her backpack.

_I'm drivin' east to face my fears_

_Headin' back down to my home town_

_And fightin' back the tears_

_Heard somewhere that you moved on_

_I guess that old flame is good as gone_

_I walk in you're standin' with your wife while I'm still lookin' for the love of my life_

_Small town smell is creepin' in_

_Reminds me of what we were back when_

_Ten years pass and everything's changed but this old heart is still the same_

_Ten Years Pass_ , Sunny Sweeney

Sam frowned as she looked at the clock. She'd overslept, meaning that her plans were dashed. Sam had worked out a plan so that that she would be able to get out to the barn when Jake left.

She was just so drained, that in her foggy mind, getting out of bed had seemed impossible. She tried not to look longingly at the pasture when she moved towards the car.

Sam shot a thankful look toward Gram calling out, "I'll be back after dinner." Sam did not repeat that she was going to PT for the first time in Darton County. Gram knew, and she did not waste air repeating herself.

She carefully got out the car and heard Jen stick the key into the ignition, listening to the engine come to life, wishing she could drive. Sam regretted not going to the barn, but she knew that if she went down there, she'd never leave. Jen popped open the driver's door, and caught her looking longingly at the pasture, "You know, if you did the extension program, you could do your schoolwork in the barn." Jen slid the driver's seat back to make room for her lanky legs.

Sam smiled, "So you do want to get rid of me." Sam joked. "It won't be easy." She turned off the radio, keenly aware that it had not been touched since the day of her accident. It was a surreal moment.

"Don't say I didn't try." Jen replied, "So." She drove easily towards the school, "Would you believe that Rachel dyed her hair? I saw her on Skype last night when she called Ryan on his phone. She looks like someone poured bleach on her head."

Sam tried not to be glad. If she had ugly hair, at least Rachel did, too. Her mocha colored hair was no more, and Sam wasn't the ugliest girl in her circle. "I should feel bad."

Jen winked, and put on the turn signal, "It's such a shame. Whoever would have told her the bleach blonde hair looked good on all skin tones?" Sam snorted. She knew Jen had done no such thing, but it was funny to think about her having done so, all the same.

The spoke for a time, until a silence fell. Jen broke it, almost blurring her words, "Darrell said Jake got a tattoo, and I want to know what it is."

Sam blinked owlishly. It was too early for Darrell's jokes. "He doesn't have a tattoo."

Sam was only mildly annoyed with Darrell for stirring trouble. Dad was still upset with her, and Max frowned tensely in her direction when Dad decided to tell everybody at Sunday dinner about the bear. Why he'd done that, she didn't know.

Luke, for his part, was supportive in his noncommittal way. Grandpa had skipped dinner for a trip or something, so he wasn't there.

Quinn had simply shifted uneasily in his seat, flicking his gaze around quickly. What had he been not saying? Was he in on this with Darrell?

Jen added, "He says that he and Quinn were there. He said Matrona's cousin did it. You don't have to give me details if it's...personal, or something."

Sam tried not to feel anything at the twinge of something loathsome she heard in Jen's tone at mention of Matrona. It was easy to see why Jen was threatened by her, though she had no cause to be, not really. She didn't know what Darrell was up to, but she was determined to find out what his endgame was.

Sam replied, "Did Darrell also tell you he tried to set Jake up with Viola?"

"Like, on a date?" Jen words were disbelieving. The sun glinted off Jen's short hair, and Sam shut her eyes against the light, enjoying the warmth but not the brightness. "With Viola? You know she was fair queen up where she lives a bunch of times." Sam remembered that Lila and Viola's mother were friends, or maybe some kind of cousins. She wasn't sure.

Great, Sam thought. Jake had gotten a beauty queen's number, though why that annoyed her Sam didn't know. It just went to show that some girls had all the luck. "I think Jake should get to know her."

Jen nearly slammed on the brakes before they hit a bus turning into the school parking lot. "What?"

"Apparently, she likes kids, has great legs, and values community service." Sam said honestly, as Jen slid into the parking spot. Thankfully, there was one open in the crowded lot. "Why shouldn't he date her?"

Viola, it seemed, was the kind of girl a guy brought home to Mama, not that Jake was anywhere near ready for that in his life. He needed to get his education squared away first. Viola would make a lovely, if stereotypical, doctor's wife, though she would not reveal that to Jen. And anyway, if Jen knew her through her mother, then Viola was a nice girl.

Sam would not allow herself to consider exactly how that was going to work. Of course, she would have to stop being selfish. There were many things that would end between them if he and Viola started going out. She would stop sharing a bed, they would have to stop sharing drinks, probably, too, and they could not possibly share most of their off-time together. They'd have to cancel or change their routines, modify plans, like the way they went to see cases and stuff. 

Sam realized that she would most miss the fact that they went to each other with most of their concerns, most of their joys. With Viola, now, Jake would have to do that with her, would have to place Viola's feelings and needs above Sam's. There was nothing untoward between them, but Viola wouldn't see that. She would be jealous. Sam knew it. 

And so, Sam would slowly lose the things that mattered most in their relationship. She would lose access to Jake's doofy smiles, his annoying habits would not be hers to rag on him about, and she would not have those empty spaces to fill in his life. She hoped to God Viola didn't like horses, or even that part of their bond would be something Sam would need to let go out of respect and fairness. 

They got out of the car, and Sam had to adjust quickly to the almost overwhelming sound of teenagers and buses mixing together in the late summer morning. Sam tossed the strap of her messenger bag over her shoulder.

Jen shrugged on her own backpack and replied, "You really hit your head hard, didn't you?" She passed Sam the keys as they walked across the parking lot. Sam knew they were a hollow token, but she tucked them away in her bag like they belonged there. "What are you going to do, in that situation, make up a visitation schedule?"

Sam didn't smile, though she knew there was no malice in Jen's remark, "You're so funny I forgot to laugh." The sleeves of her tunic top pushed back against her arms, the elastic ends holding the sleeves in place as the ends to the wrap fluttered in the wind. The movement of the fabric felt interesting against her skin. Sam decided she liked the top she was wearing.

They headed into the school. Sam felt her water bottle jostling against her side. Sam spoke when they came to their customary point of separation, "I hit my head so hard I get a pass on gym." She tried to make the announcement funny.

Sam wanted Jen to know what was going to be going on in her day. She was trying her hardest to be more open. The specials started the second week of school for some reason. The first week was centered on academic classes.

Jen paused, and said carefully, as though the words were not really what she wanted to say, but she felt compelled to hold up her end of the social contract. "We should all be so lucky."

Quickly, before anyone saw, Sam reached out and squeezed Jen's hand in thanks. She was darn lucky to have such a great best friend.

_Rebel girl rebel girl_

_Rebel girl you are the queen of my world_

_Rebel girl rebel girl_

_Love you like a sister, always_

_Soul sister, blood sister_

_Rebel Girl_ , Bikini Kill

The living room was dark and cool in the midmorning, when the sun faced the other way. He'd been up and working since five, and he was now getting schoolwork done. Jake liked being home, liked being so flexible. His emails were always first, and he had been staring at the same email for some time. Jake stared at the email from his favorite biology professor, and read it again.

_Jake,_

_I'm so glad you've seen the light. Biology is a major that can be completed with distance courses. Yours truly teaches several classes needed for the major that you haven't as yet undertaken with your current biology minor, by the way. The way it works is that we help you to make local usage of college and research labs to complete your lab requirements. In essence, these agreements allow other college professors and instructors to function as lab instructors. I have listed below the names of individuals I suggest you contact. Please do not delay if you are serious about biology as your major._

_I hope you are, of course. I am excited to help you make the switch. I always told you you were wasted in CrimJ, though if you tell Dr. Franklin that, I will of course deny having made any such assertion. I've attached remarks to your degree plan. To answer a few of your questions here, a biochemistry course for first-year medical students tends to center upon molecular mechanisms central to human health and disease. It is generally presented with the assumption that a new student has mastered the basics of biochemistry, including molecular genetics, proteins, and the metabolism, though courses do vary._

_I will not ask why you've asked me about medical school, as your intent seems plain. If you are even considering that route, you will have a huge task in front of you. You're going to need clinical practice, and while your EMT training would help you to shadow or work with a physician, it cannot be your only source of clinical experience because it is limited to emergency situations. You will need to work fast to get relevant courses completed to finish the major on time with the kind of professional development to get in anywhere. Unlike Elle Woods, you can't just wake up one morning and get into med school. However, I think that if any of my students can earn admission with hard work, you would be among them, Jacob. Please take a look at the attachments called "Med School Prep." There should be a few PDFs. I suggest you look them over and set about finding a doctor to shadow, or at least talk to one about the actuality of the profession. I don't suppose you have a working relationship with a doctor in your area that you'd like to shadow?_

_Best,_

_Prof. Jane_

This was a tough moment for Jake. If he did what he knew he had to do next, he would be turning his back on the path Mom was so keen on, turning his back on the things that she had always wanted for him, the expectations his entire family had of him in life. Still, he knew that he could not live the life they wanted for their sakes. He'd come to see, somehow, that he had to life his life, had to honor his own path, no matter where it took him.

He had to be the kind of person that he wanted to be, do the things that life and the God that ordained it called him to do. He could not be a cop, and he wanted to be a doctor. He also wanted to be a good son. He wanted to honor his mother. He wanted her to be proud. He wanted her to be happy. He didn't want to make her angry.

But..he couldn't allow himself to be swept away by expectations, become a bitter and hopeless man, washed up before his time. He had to go his own way, no matter how hard it seemed on so many levels.

Jake tried to make sense of the myriad of PDFs she'd included. On the last page of a 12 page document, he found what he was looking for. It was a checklist that outlined everything on the attachments that he'd been pouring over for the last hour.

He was alone in the house. Siger was chewing on his rope toy in the corner. Jake thought for a second, and knew what his best option was. He knew a doctor whose horse he and Sam had treated some months back. The details of the case were in front of him in a few seconds, and as he read over the notes Sam had typed up back then, he knew that making a phone call wasn't such a bad idea.

Still, he hated the phone. He wanted this more than he hated the phone. Jake picked up the landline on the desk and carefully punched in the number, having rehearsed what he would say quickly in his mind as the phone rang, "Hello?" The lilt of a North Carolina upbringing rang in the voice on the other end of the line. The doctor added, "Tom Haskins."

"Dr. Haskins, this is Jake Ely." Before he could continue, the doctor cut him off. Jake's planned script was blown to smithereens and he barely heard the reply as he thought about how to approach the subject again.

"Greeley is doing well, Jake! Thanks for calling. I've been keeping up with the massage." The middle aged man sounded excited to talk about his senior horse, but then again, most people were. "What may I do for you?"

Jake jumped at the opportunity to use the opening provided. He tried not to rush his words. Briefly, he explained his goal, omitting most details, "Do you allow students who are applying to medical school to shadow you?"

Jake held his breath, hopeful at how the question appeared. It was almost coherent.

Dr. Haskins answered, "Typically, I do. After all you did for my Greeley, I'd be more than happy to work out something with you, if that's why you're asking. I'm a boring old GP, but there's always work to do. I still do house calls, do you believe that?"

Jake exhaled in heady relief."Look, I know this is short notice, but can you come out to my office today? This afternoon?" Dr. Haskins continued, "I'm leaving for Dallas to see my niece get married, and I don't want to leave you hanging, son."

Jake looked at the clock. It was nearing noon, and there was a bit of a drive to Dr. Haskins' office. "I don't want to put you out."

"Well, see, the thing is, I want to get your paperwork together. It's simpler if you come out here. I hate fax machines." Dr. Haskins added that he should bring various documentation, and they ended the call before Jake raced to get cleaned up and head out. Jake tried not to analyze how quickly some things just happened, like they had been ordained for always.

_I look myself in the face_

_And whisper "I'm in the wrong place"_

_Is there more to lose than gain_

_If I go on my own again? (On my own again)_

_People are connecting_

_Don't know what to say_

_I'm good at protecting what they want to take_

_The Outsider_ , Marina & the Diamonds

Sam's green keds didn't make a sound as she rounded the corner, though they sounded loud because she was the only person in the hall. She was late getting to the classroom, and she hoped the teacher would understand.

Her gym assignment was in the music room, and her feet were aching. She never came out this way. She wasn't in band, couldn't sing or play a note. She remembered coming this way on Parent's Showcase Day with Max and Luke, once. She remembered holding fast to Luke's hand as he told her that Adam was first chair. Sam thought he made a lot of noise on the clarinet, though she didn't say so that night. That night she had felt grown up. Jake had yanked on her ponytail and she had kicked him and they both had to sit when they got home. Jake said he was too big to sit as punishment, but Max had been annoyed.

She was so annoyed with her senses today. What else was new? It was a fact of life now, but she couldn't help but question every sensation she felt, every feeling. She kept running over the simplest of actions, wondering if they felt the same was as they had before the accident. Many times it was clear they did not, and a few times, the differences were so slight that she could not make up her mind. It was the later situation that drove her wild, and she simply wished that there was something left in the world to feel that didn't revolve around the ghosts of her past.

Her calves were tense by the time she reached the classroom door. This was alternate gym? Sam pulled open the door. She looked into the classroom as she stood in the room, and all of the easy chatter she'd heard in the hall stopped. One girl clicked her pen, and said, "Come in, you're letting the radio out into the hall."

Sam moved quickly to avoid their ire. She wanted desperately to fit in.

Seated around the room were about six girls, and one guy. The girl who had spoken turned down the radio that was jarring Sam's awareness and spoke. Everyone else was looking at her. Another girl spoke, "Welcome to gym class. You are?"

The girl with dark hair and a pink shirt seemed to be smiling at some joke. She looked kind, and Sam knew they would be friends, if she had the shot to meet the girl.

Sam swallowed and took the seat closest to the door. She felt like she had walked into the wrong room. Where was the teacher? What was the activity? They all seemed to be socializing. If this was a blow off class, she was going to go and call Jake and get to the bottom of this tattoo thing.

"Sam." Sam replied, trying to smile and appear as willing as she was to get to know her classmates.

Another nodded vigorously as she chewed. She was eating a sandwich and drinking water. She swallowed. "Brain injury girl! We heard about you! Is it true you got kicked by a cow?"

Sam hooked her bag over the chair and turned to face the girl who'd asked by swinging her feet out to the side and sitting sideways on the chair, her feet blocking what was left of the aisle after the desks had been shoved around.

"No." She did not volunteer information. "So what is this?" She could not help the question. Her schedule read "Gym: ALT." This was the correct room. There was nowhere else to go.

The girl with the radio looked up from where she was writing, "Can't you read, Sam? Don't you know? This is alternate gym. Mr. Fry lets us be as long as we let him be, and we write one paper a month. Welcome to the underbelly of Darton High, where we stand against oppression and marginalization with Oreos and a bad attitude. I'm Bree. We all know why you're here."

The other members of the group slowly stopped what they were doing, and Sam felt like she was back in group meetings with the people in her ward, "I'm here because I've got a five month old. They sent me here when I got knocked up and I decided to stay."

Sam realized that she was the leader of the room, and would be introducing everyone once she got through talking about herself. "I figure if I can raise his son on my own, the least he should have to do is see my face at school as he sucks face with some girl. I figure I'm doing the chick a favor. At least with me around, she knows better than to screw him."

Sam's face was impassive as Bree tried to shock her. Nothing would, not anymore. Matrona's injury had resulted in hypersexuality, after all. She'd heard it all, in some degree of rather graphic detail.

Satisfied that she had not shocked the greenhorn, Bree went around the room. The girl with the radio was Gina, who never really spoke except to tell people to shut the door and ask people who they were. She didn't speak much once she knew your name. Everyone in alternate gym called her The Gatekeeper. No one knew why she was there. "...but don't mess with her. She brings snacks."

Sam noticed a box of cookies on the windowsill.

She flexed her feet, feeling badly. She had never known that all of these people existed. She had seen them in the halls over the years, but had never wondered at their stories or even done anything to befriend them, or even know their names. Gina was in her art classes. She hardly spoke there, too, but her art was amazingly avant garde.

Sam had thought she was unfriendly, and had never approached her, but she wasn't. An unfriendly person didn't bring snacks for a whole room of people all the time, Sam realized. Gina chewed on a Pez, and was unbothered by Sam's staring. She blinked back at her without shame.

"That's Eric." Bree said, pointing to the sole boy in the room, "He's got asthma. Don't smoke in here, or you'll kill him." He waved over his gameboy. His smile was wide, and Sam liked him instantly.

The girl in the pink spoke up for herself over a math textbook, "I'm Millie. I don't think we've met. I'm glad to know you. If you need any help getting adjusted, let me know."

"Silly Millie." The girl with the soda interjected, "She's here because she believed her boyfriend when he said he was blanking. Don't ever trust a man when he says that, Brainy." She set down her coke, "I'm Simona. No one knows why I'm here. Hell, I don't even know." She bit into her sandwich, and the room lapsed into silence.

Millie got up and moved to a desk next to Sam, carting a book that, even while open, did not cover the expanse of her belly. Her figure was rounded. Sam did not know where to look.

Millie got to the point, "It's a boy. I'm going to call him Asher. Asher James." Millie smiled and looked over at Gina. "Gina's good with names. She can tell all about a person just by hearing their names. She told me he wanted to be called Asher."

Sam did not know what to say to that. "So you guys just sit here?"

Millie looked at Sam over her notebook, "I'm busy on a cellular level."

Gina turned her radio back up and Eric passed her headphones, and muted the swooshing that emanated from his DS. Sam understood the joke after a moment.

Millie was having a baby. Sam had no idea what that must be like outside of a technical sense, but she understood the comment about being busy doing it, whatever it was.

Sam did not leave the room, and instead observed and tried to participate. Instead, she thought about all the things she had missed in her own high school. She had never really paid attention to the girls who got pregnant, or the kids who didn't quite blend or the ones who you didn't see, but now she was one of them.

It felt like she had been admitted to a club when Bree rose and brought the box of cookies over to Millie and added, after surveying the room, "You can have one, if you tell us about you."

Sam understood that revealing something about herself was the price of admission. In return, she would be accepted, however provisionally, by this ragtag family of students that had carved out a corner for themselves in Darton High. Hopeful that she could do the same, Sam spoke, "What do you want to know?"

Millie answered, "Oh, tell us something you believe in!" She seemed so trusting, so quick to believe, so quick to put faith in something. Sam wondered how she could not be jaded after what she had gone through in the last few months.

Sam opened her mouth. The words fell out by rote. "I believe in the future of agriculture, with a faith born not of words but of deeds..." She blushed hotly, breaking off. So much for outing her former hobbies. A twitter went around the room.

Eric called out, "4-H is better! Don't listen to her." Sam knew it was in good humor. She was in, even with her messed up brain and the ghosts of her pasts clinging to her when she least expected it.

_Oh-oh Oh!_

_They're watching me, watching me fall_

_Oh-oh Oh!_

_They're watching me, watching me fall_

_You wanna see what's in my head?_

_You wanna see what's in my head?_

_You wanna see what's in my head?_

_Check it out 'cause;_

_I got pictures of what's in my head_

_I got pictures of what's in my head_

_Hiroshima (B B B Benny Hit His Head)_ , Ben Folds

Jake signed the last paper and handed the file back to Dr. Haskins. The man smiled, "Your EMT training will come in handy here. What's your schedule like? Shadowing is usually short term, but I'm getting old. Convention is for the birds. You can hang around as long as you want to put up with me. Three days a week, how about?" Dr. Haskins looked at his calendar, "I do office hours Monday and Wednesday, and then calls the rest of the week. If you come Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, you'll get to see all of what I do."

Jake was fine with that arrangement. "I can come in around 9:30?" He offered the time knowing that his work on the ranch could be managed, but he would like to keep the mornings for the horses, and Sam.

He wondered, based upon conversations they'd had, if she would eventually do the extension program, and having some time in the morning to wake up and eat breakfast without having to rush off felt right in his soul. He missed eating breakfast with her every day, missed watching her brush her hair, missed the mulish look on her face before there was enough tea in her system.

Dr. Haskins nodded. "My wife, Ruth, makes me lunch. I know it isn't traditional to offer, but don't bring anything with you. We close the office, and we'd be glad to have you join us for a small repast. The kids are gone, you know, and Ruthie would be really glad to have somebody to feed that eats something other than grains."

Jake agreed, and added, "I'm much obliged to you." The small office in which they sat was something out of a Rockwell print. Jake felt like he had gone back in time, to a place where nice old doctors still knew every patient's chart simply by seeing their face. It would be an interesting way to view the profession, a way that was slowly changing and dying out.

Dr. Haskins looked at him, and looked around his office, "I've spent nearly 40 years doing this job, young man, and sometimes, it's nice just to have someone who wants to listen to me." Jake saw the history and the knowledge that was in the older man's eyes, and understood the gift that he was being given. He would make this work, no matter what Mom said. "We'll see you Monday, then."

Jake left the doctor's office and checked his phone. He wanted to call Sam and tell her, but he couldn't. She was in school, and she deserved a break from dealing with their reality.

She was a bit crushed after yesterday. The women's circle had reassigned her job with the Children's Church. They hadn't meant to be rude. They had simply assumed that she wouldn't be here, that she couldn't run the booth even if she was. Sam couldn't ask for her role back. It was too late. Jake had taken pleasure in crossing their names off of the sign up list. Mom had laid into him that they couldn't just not go, and that they could still help, but she didn't get what having her job taken away had done to Sam.

Jake was as nice as he was going to be about it. He didn't like seeing her hurt. 

Everyone knew about her tattoo, and he had let her down by not taking the heat and confessing that he had his own tattoo, healing on his chest. It had been selfish. He had wanted to get Sam alone, show her by herself. The tattoo was a part of him, not something that his whole family needed to hear about before she knew about it. The way they had treated her over the bear would be nothing compared to the flak he was going to get for the turtle, which is why they needed to have a plan, present a unified front.

Jake sighed, and headed home. The path he was taking was set once again. He knew that he had to go to Ballard and be honest, but he wanted Mom and Dad to know first. He was thinking about telling Dad first, because Dad would back him up even if he didn't agree. He seemed to see that Jake was an adult in a way that Mom didn't, maybe because she couldn't. Jake drove and thought.

He was still thinking when he was out riding fence with Witch. It was a task that would never change, and always needed doing. Some found it annoying, but Jake found it soothing. Witch was a good thinking partner, because she never broke in with unneeded chatter. His phone buzzing cut into his process.

Jake shifted slightly in the saddle to pull it out of his pocket. It was a text from Darrell, "She's fine, she's not hurt, but Sam's coming home."

Jake was already turning towards home as his text finished sending, "What happened?" Rather than wait to find out, he made a phone call for the second time that day, a phone call he dreaded more than any other.

Darrell picked up on the first ring, "Jen's with her now. They're cutting and coming home. Jen says she doesn't care about classes."

Jake snapped, "I meant what happened to Sam." His patience was a mere thread.

Darrell wised up fast as Jake closed a gate behind him. Jake focused on his tasks as he guided Witch, thankful he had the kind of horse he had. "She said the neural...something in her feet got bad for a second. She seems fine now."

Jake did not take the time to educate Darrell on what neuropathy was, not when the whole story wasn't clear. Sam wouldn't leave if her feet her. She wouldn't leave unless she had been forced to do it. "Why is she coming home, then?"

"The thing is, Jake, it happened when she was walking down a flight of stairs." Darrell said. He quickly amended the images in Jake's head, "She didn't fall down the steps. She arranged it somehow that she leaned into the bannister, but the metal..."

Jake could not breathe. She didn't have enough fat to protect her body from that kind of impact, however gentle. There could be all sorts of internal bleeding issues, all sorts of things that no one would know to think of or consider because they didn't know her medical history and because Sam wouldn't fill them in out of stubbornness.

"I'm 40 minutes out." Jake said, "Darrell?"

"Yeah?" His friend was surprised by the question.

Just before he hung up the phone, Jake added, "Thanks."

Darrell didn't have a chance to reply as Jake had already hung up and was calculating the fastest route home.

_I can't take this pain much longer_

_You insist on teaching me what I already know_

_Well you could wash my brain, you could tear out my heart_

_But I would never forget you_

_You could change my world, I could make a new start_

_but I would never forget you_

_Kill, Kill, Kill,_  The Pierces

Sam exhaled. Despite the reprieve gym class had been, her head was spinning after back to back brain melting classes. She chugged water, popped a pill in the bathroom stall, and swigged more water.

Flushing the toilet, she headed out to wash her hands. She had to go in there, now. The lunchroom beckoned. Sam finished washing her hands and wiped them on her skirt. She moved toward the noise, every fiber of her body shaking with the onslaught of the noise.

She should have taken the lav pass and gone to the bathroom to take a pill beforehand, so that it would kick in, but she had chickened out. Her back was killing her, but she had been determined to make it through. Needs must, she thought, quoting Gram.

There was no way PT would be an option later if she hadn't taken something now.

She stood in the front of the room and searched out Darrell. She walked over to the table. Darrell sat with the boys like him, boys with dirt bikes, rowdy personalities, and dirt under their nails. She tried not to feel their gazes as she walked between the tables toward Darrell.

Oddly enough, no one spoke to her. It was par for the course now. Everyone at school stared, but no one said hello.

She had had the luxury of being like them, once, and tried to understand where they were coming from. She tried not to be hurt by their silence, tried not to wish that they would see her as a person. They certainly thought enough of her to gossip about her behind her back.

Sam supposed the whole school was concerned, but being the subject of rumors and whispers that followed her as she moved through the halls were isolating, and simply illustrated that she did not fit in here.

Darrell's friends were another example of that, one she did not need. Months ago, they would have overwhelmed her with good natured jibes and innuendoes. The room roared around her, and Sam felt her awareness slipping.

This room was hell on earth. She could literally see sound, see it taking shape around her. She could taste the noise and the sensation, heavy and overwhelming, and metallic in her mouth.

She reached out and grabbed Darrell's shoulder, unwilling to grab him roughly, but afraid she might fall as someone brushed by her, towards the trash lines. "Darrell." He understood what she was asking him to do. Thankfully, their years of friendship had taught them enough. 

He looked at his tray, grabbed his juice, and walked towards the door without a backward glance to his friends. Sam hastened herself to follow, nearly tripping hard enough to fall. Everyone who saw her do it looked away. Some stared intently at their food. Some looked right through her.

Once they were in hall, Sam got to the point, "Does Jake have a tattoo?" She was glad she could speak as her senses righted themselves, as she transitioned. Her voice was likely too loud as she modulated her tones, but it didn't matter overmuch.

Darrell coughed, and a blush stole over his face as they moved towards the door to the stairs. She had to head towards math before the heard of stampeding buffalo pounded her into the as they rushed by. Darrell was nice to keep her company until she got to the doorway.

The hallway was silent. "Darrell. Answer me."

"I'm in a tough spot, honey." Darrell evaded.

The words confirmed all she needed to know. Jake had a tattoo, and he hadn't told her. Why? What was the point of lying, of hiding it all, when she had stripped her soul bare in front of him time and time again?

Darrell did not need to say anything. He was in a tough spot because he could not betray Jake and he was too honorable to lie to her face. "He does. Whatever." Sam started to walk away.

Darrell called out, after staring at her for a few seconds. "Sam!"

  
"I don't want to talk now, Dare." Sam was beyond caring as the door to the stairs shut behind her.

She kept moving, down the first landing and into the actual stairwell. A millisecond after the words left her mouth, regretted it as numbness welled within her feet. It was a bad choice to make. She lost her footing for a fleeting second as numbness washed over her feet. It went away after a few seconds, but those scant seconds counted, and she lost her balance.

She knew what to do, had prepared for this. She even heard Kyla's voice in her head.

Better to break an arm than fall down the stairs, Sam thought grimly as her hand reached out forcefully, her intent clear.

She grabbed the top bar of the bannister just before her face smashed into the metal. Sam inhaled, glad that her face had been saved, only to realize that the banging sound hadn't been her bag.

She had, in her effort to stop falling, shoved the entire side of her body into the banister. Her side was already aching. She sat there for a few seconds. She was alone, but she had done fine. She had protected her head.

She lifted her bag and numbly considered her next point of action. She needed to stand up and get out of here. If it was rational or a flight reaction, she wasn't sure. She was utterly alone and only one person knew where she was right now. It was scary, somehow, but she also knew that she had the ability to handle this. She had been alone before. Sam counted the stairs, thrilled that she was able to count to 14 and see the door that led to the main hallway. She had to get there and walk a few feet to the classroom.

She was making her way slowly down the stairs as Darrell came down the steps on his way to class. He moved quickly when he saw that she was still there. "Sam! Are you okay?" His gaze was careful, concerned, and assessing. For a fleeting second, Sam wished that it was not Darrell here with her, but his best friend.

She shook her head, trying not to twinge as the movement made her shoulder ache. "I'm fine. Completely." She tried to reach over and pick up the things that had spilled along the stairs. Sam found that she could not. "I need a second, yeah?" She let go of the banister to reach down and pick something up, as though she had meant to drop them along her path to the doorway, but she could not pull off the lie.

"Sammy..." Darrell was grabbing her things quickly, "The bell, it's going to ring. We've got to get you to the nurse. You need ice or something." He was looking at her, terror on his face. "Come on." There was note of authority in his voice, though it fell far short.

Sam hissed in annoyance or pain, she wasn't sure, as she stood. "You're not very good at telling me what to do." Sam tried to take her bag from Darrell. He wouldn't let up on the strap.

Once they were in the bright hallway, he cursed.

"Would you shut up, Ja-..." Sam stopped talking as the light adjusted and she saw who she was talking to, really. She wanted Jake, but he wasn't here. He wasn't here, and she was on her own.

Sam snapped, "I'm really fine." She decided that she would get the ice. Her side was aching, but it was nothing. It would pass. The only reason she hurt was because that moment back there had been a rush.

First, though, she needed to get things squared away. Sam straightened carefully, running over the schedule in her mind. "I'm going to history now."

Darrell stopped, apprehension blooming on his face. "Sam. You have math next." He shifted towards her quickly, as though he expected her to drop over. Sam tried not to extrapolate what he must be thinking about her mental state. He thought she had called him 'Jake' and had messed up her schedule.

Sam replied, "It was an honest mistake." Her slip had merely been a mistake, but Darrell was reading things into it. They were both Freudian slips, nothing more. He wove through the still empty hallway and knocked at the teacher's lounge door before Sam realized where they were.

Her side hurt. She shifted from foot to foot quickly.

The door opened. It was Mr. Fry, the gym teacher. Sam knew where he passed his time, now. She grinned. He was her teacher, and he didn't even know she was in his class. He knew Darrell, though. "Darrell, you are not allowed to use the soda machine."

"I need Mrs. Ely." Darrell said, insistent and calm, "Move out of the way, french fry." Sam giggled at the joke as Darrell pushed past the man. It was funny. The expression on Max's face when she rounded the door was not quite humorous.

Sam found herself in yet another space of the school that had been formerly closed to her. The teacher's break room had been shrouded in mystery. The copy machine that rested against a wall was flanked by a vending machine that boasted inexpensive bottled sodas. Max was there, copying quizzes or something.

How odd, Sam thought, twice in one day, she was seeing something that had been under nose all along.

"Max." The words burst forth from Sam when she saw Max, who spent her planning period making copies in the lounge, "Darrell's overreacting."

"That's hardly news, honey." She looked over at Sam, and stepped away from the copy machine, "Still, I think you better come and sit down before you fall down."

_Who I am with you is who I really want to be_

_And when I'm holdin' you, it feels like I've got the world in my hands_

_Yeah, a better man is who I am with you_

_I've got a ways to go on this ride_

_But I got a hand to hold that fits just right_

_You make me laugh, you make me high,_

_You make me want to hold on tight, 'cause_

_Who I am with You_ , Chris Young

Jake was furious. Two phone calls in the span of the hour, each one worse than the last. The screen door skittered shut behind him.

He heard Quinn speaking, "Hold the peas, Sam." Jake made his way down the hall and into the kitchen, ignoring the dirt on his boots. Mom could hold her horses about dirt right now.

What Jake saw shook him, badly, took the wind out of his sails. He didn't react well internally though he doubted a muscle moved in his body. He had the presence of mind to understand that the sight of Sam sitting on a kitchen chair as she was, filled him with a quiet fear.

Her gaze was solid steel. She was blocking out pain. That made him afraid, which he understood, but the bruises blooming on her forearm filled him with a quiet rage that defied rationalzation or comprehension.

Jake almost did not recognize his own voice, "Did you hit your head?"

Sam looked up. "No. I hit my arm. Darrell blew a fuse, and is out babbling in the garage. Go deal with him. He wouldn't leave when Jen dropped me off, but he wouldn't stay inside, either."

She was off her rocker if she thought for one second he was going anywhere. Her top was shoved up at the elbow, revealing pale skin marred by redness that was quickly bruising over. He wasn't angry at her.

Maybe he was angry at the world, angry at himself, angry that this had happened. Why it had come to pass mattered, but it wasn't something he could ask about with Quinn around. He shot his brother a meaningful look.

"I'll go!" Quinn decided, and exited quickly.

Jake exhaled. He looked at the freezer door hanging open, and shut it. They had just walked in the door, then. Sam stood up and winced.

"Where else are they?" Jake asked, moving towards the freezer. The peas would help, but she needed actual ice. Her movements told him all he needed to know about the extent of what had happened.

She made a vague gesture that said nothing but told him everything. 

Jake frowned, trying to calm down. He couldn't touch her until he wasn't tense. He wanted to touch her, therefore, he needed to calm down. The idea was simple, and the reward was great, but his brain wouldn't listen. Horrible images and base reactions to prevent them from happening were racing in his mind. He could not handle having to deal with his PTSD right now.

Jake put a hand over Sam's, helping her to move the frozen bag of peas from her arm. When he touched her, his anger faded, as did the overwhelming, unconquerable fear. He was still scared, still on edge, but the tensity left him. His voice was imploring, "Sam?" The bag of ice in his hand was a lead weight as worry built within him.

She looked up at him from where she was sitting. "Come upstairs.' Jake caught her gaze around the open kitchen.

Jake was unwilling to let her walk up another flight of stairs. Minding her injured side, he scooped her up, ignoring the protests mumbled into his collar. It made him feel better to do this. Jake stopped in the hallway and grabbed the witch hazel and the arnica, passed them to Sam, and continued down the hallway.

The silence between them spoke volumes about Sam's pain. Normally, she would talk his ear off, but the fact that she wasn't simply told him that she was too busy fighting her pain. He could feel it in every line of her body. "How much pain are you in?"

Jake carefully set her on the edge of his bed and turned to shut the door. "I'm not." Sam promised, "I took a pill before it happened. I'm just calm." She picked up the bag, and pressed it to her side over her clothes. Jake pulled a towel off of his dresser, and set it down along with gauze pads and the other things they needed. She removed it after a second, fidgeting.

Sam's gaze dropped as Jake opened the bag of ice.

_Ain't no use in trying to slow me down_

_'Cause you're running with the fastest girl in town_

_Ain't you, baby?_

_I'll be wearing nothing but a tattoo and a smile_

_Ain't no use in trying to slow me down_

_'Cause you're running with the fastest girl in town_

_Ain't you, baby?_

_Fastest Girl in Town,_  Miranda Lambert

He palmed a cube. "I need to see, Sam." The cube of ice was quickly numbing his fingertips. The plastic texture of the bag would just bother her sensory issues. "Please."

Sam swallowed. She seemed to be making up her mind quickly about something.

Moving slowly, she pulled the tie that held her top closed. Her fingers fumbled with the inner tie.

Jake closed the gap between them and pulled the tie apart, feeling the grating fabric under his fingers, fabric that contrasted with the softness of her exposed skin. The sheer fabric fell apart easily, revealing a dark blue tank top.

Jake's breathing hitched, and he realized that she was giving him time to tell her to stop. He wasn't expecting this. He had assumed she would just yank up the side of her blouse.

The top fell from her shoulders, and Jake watched her face as her eyes widened expectantly. He was supposed to be looking at her side, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from her face. "They're awful." Sam whispered.

Moving his hand from her waist to the lower edge of her hip, Jake helped her to shift as she removed the outer top completely. Jake couldn't see any marks on her torso, but the few on her arm were red. "I..." Before he could get the rest of the words out of his mouth, Sam's hands went to the hem of her tank top, and the ice cube that was still in Jake's other hand tumbled to the floor as he lost focus.

Rational thought left him as her tank top hit the bed beside her. Words would never accurately describe what he was seeing, and Jake would never try, because what he was seeing was something he never intended to talk about with anyone else. Sam didn't need to hear her own body described to her. She knew how beautiful she was, given how easily she denied it, and what happened between them was their business. It always had been, and always would be.

_It's my beautiful muse in her underwear  
And if I was thinkin'_

_I'd be thinkin' thank God,_

_whoever You are  
For the muse and this old guitar_

_Times like these so sweet and so true  
Thinkin's the last thing that you wanna do_

_The Muse,_  The Wood Brothers

Jake knew that many parts of himself were at war. On one hand, part of him was shocked to find her all but undressed, sitting on the edge of his bed. She was his friend, and friends, he told himself, did not get sweaty palms and loose their ability to think at the sight before him.

And yet, he had.

She was more than some random friend. She was, even if she no longer saw it, beautiful in a way that defied description. She was beautiful because her goodness, her light, shone from inside of her and illuminated the world. She was both his friend and beautiful because she was Sam. All of the parts of him that were conflicted came together when he realized that this was Sam, well and truly, alive and here like this outside of his dreams.

Sam words were soft, somehow ignoring that she was almost half-naked on his bed. The edges of his fingers were scant centimeters from the where the waistband of her skirt ended. Jake didn't know where to look or not look. He was dying to look her, really see her body, in the fullness of the light around them.

There was a look on her face, one he didn't understand, a soft, hesitant, yearning.

She misunderstood his reaction. He wasn't touching her yet because he didn't know where to start, or how he would stop. The things he felt in the dark of the night were clear in the daylight. He could see the smattering of freckles on her stomach that sometimes felt raised when his hand rested there at night and was surprised to see that they were shaped like a trapezoid and not a rectangle. He didn't know where to begin, where to start or what she wanted.

Did she even want him to touch her, or was this supposed to be a clinical kind of look and see? Jake hoped it wasn't the later. This felt really personal. Sam broke into his thoughts again, "Jake."

He looked then, forcefully pulled his gaze downward, as Sam put his hand on the skin below the discoloration. His heart was pounding. She was, honest to God, beautiful. He didn't have any practical basis for comparison, but he knew, saw the truth in all of this. Her trust in him was again humbling. How many people would do this without artifice? No one else that he knew, or ever wanted to know.

This was Sam, thank God, this was Sam, who faced the world head on, and never, not for one second, backed down from anything she wanted. And evidently, she wanted him to see her like this.

_Girl, I've been waitin on this long hard day to get over_

_So I can rest my head right here on your shoulder_

_I just wanna lay here and feel you breathe_

_Listen to the rhythm of your heartbeat_

_And see where it leads..._

_I Wanna Make You Close Your Eyes_ , Dierks Bentley

The second the marks on her body registered within him, his heart stopped beating for a second. He hissed in sympathy. His hands started to shake.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't. She wasn't supposed to be taking off her top to show him yet another mark on her body that was going to linger for ages. This moment had been stolen from them by the accident, but maybe this moment wouldn't be possible without it. "You can't do this to me." His voice was a hoarse whisper as his head dipped forward.

Sam made something that must have been a shushing sound, a soothing sound that was older than human language, as primal as the situation they were in. Jake found that his lips were brushing her ear, running over the smooth skin of the lobe as he spoke. He pushed her hair aside, "You can't."

Sam's arms wrapped around him and he laid his head on the slope of her bare chest. Jake felt her heart racing in her chest, felt her fingernails digging into him to pull him tighter and closer. Jake repeated himself. "You can't."

The texture of her skin was smooth, like the soft underside of a leaf. Jake tried to breathe deeply as he told her, "I can't go through life wondering if this morning was the last time I'll see you safe. I...I could have lost you again, today."

They held each other for the longest moment, one that wasn't long enough. It could have so easily been over, today, and she would have been gone. Somehow, the idea of her mind going before her body filled him with a terror unlike anything he'd ever felt. They held each other, and Jake listened to her heart beat rapidly, felt the aliveness of their bodies as skin prickled and senses merged. He reveled in it.

After and endless time of holding each other as close as they could, of feeling and knowing and learning and being, Jake felt centered again, somehow, rational enough to know that she had to elevate and ice those bruises now. Her needs had to come before something he wanted, the contact he desired. Jake let go, feeling the loss of Sam against him, wrapped around him keenly, wishing that the soft green tea scent that lingered on her skin would stay with him always.

Sam allowed him to help her to her side, "What are you even talking about?" She was playing this off as small, but he knew better, knew what Darrell's texts and phone calls had amounted to. She tried to roll over to face him, but if she thought that was going to happen, she was off her rocker.

Jake picked up the bag of ice and scrambled to the other side of the bed, sitting in the middle of it. Sam's back was facing him, and her injured side was the side of her body that was off the bed.

The first ice cube skated over her skin. He tried to be gentle, tried to think about making this good for her. "Tell me if this hurts." She nodded, eyes closed, and Jake continued, "He says you didn't know where you were going. He said you called him..."

The idea that she had been so gone, that something had been wrong enough for his name to spill from her lips like that, in that situation, made him both scared and glad. He was scared that she made that mistake, and glad that even in moments of stress, that she knew exactly what to do, where to turn.

"He's wrong, Jake. He's wrong." Sam promised, breath leaving her body in a rush as her body trembled when he took up a new ice cube and ran it in slow circles over the affected area. The circles he drew growing wider and wider with each pass of the ice. "Yes. I forgot where I was going, but never for one second did I confuse who he was or where I was."

She reached up to her side and pressed his hand down into her skin, increasing the pressure of his touch, stopping his movement just when his fingers ran over the soft skin on the outside of the injured area. "Trust me?"

Jake nodded, unable to speak, to tell her how much he trusted her not to lie, not about any of this. The ice was a mere splinter, so his fingers were fully draped over her side. Jake had no idea what this was, but God, he wanted it.

 

Jake didn't want to admit that this moment was so much like something he'd dreamed about that he was terrified that it was really just that, and that it was going to end badly. Jake shook off the fear. No, this was real, flesh and blood and real, hurt and redemption, gritty and true. 

He realized that she couldn't see him nod, so he moved around to face her. It was more likely now, that if she moved, she would risk falling off the bed, but at least they could see each other now, and he could take a second to breathe. It was her that made him feel this way, not treating her injury, and if she found out how on edge he was, he wanted her to know that beyond all else, know that it was all her.

Sam's gaze was uncertain. Jake asked, "What are you thinking?" He wanted to know honestly and truly if she was thinking about him. His thoughts were spinning, but they were all centered on her, his awareness of her, the reality of this moment, and he wanted to know if she was there with him.

"Honestly, I'm glad I showered last night." Sam smiled, but her tone turned slightly more serious, "I'm also thinking you have a tattoo."

Jake blushed. She was right, and she did still smell faintly of green tea, as she had last night when she'd come to bed, her skin smooth and cooly damp from the shower. He loved those moments, and Jake was beyond thrilled to be adding yet another to that memory bank, one that felt more serious and real, rather than silly and easy. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Sam swallowed, her eyes deeply green. "Show me."

Jake knew that he had been caught looking too intently at the slopes and curves in her body, that while different than they had seemed to be months ago, consumed the entirety of his attention. He missed the soft demand that sent a bolt of frission down his spine, "What?"

Sam was laughing at him. She was laughing at him. This was serious, and she thought this whole thing was funny. What if she wasn't feeling what he was feeling? What if this moment wasn't anything for her like it was for him? "Honestly. You act like you just realized that I have boobs."

Jake turned beet red. "Sorry." He wasn't going to tell her that she was wrong. She'd never believe him. It was, just that like their relationship, he might have felt her chest brush up against him as they slept in the darkness, but seeing her body in the light like this made him connect the dots in ways he never had allowed himself to do before.

_Oh, but you were so shy, so was I_

_Maybe that's why it was so hard to believe_

_When you smiled and said to me_

_"Are you gonna kiss me or not?_

_Are we gonna do this or what?_

_I think you know I like you a lot_

_But you're 'bout to miss your shot_

_Are you gonna kiss me or not?"_

_Are You Gonna Kiss Me or Not?_ , Thompson Square

Sam felt like her lungs were frozen in her chest even as her heart beat double time. She couldn't so much as inhale without Jake's eyes tracking the movement, his brown eyes heated and everywhere on her skin, something that made her mouth dry plain on his face. She had not thought about what this would be like, but it felt like so many things all at once.

That was a lie. She had, in the back of her mind, been waiting for this day, this moment, waiting to share in this heady mishmash of emotion of with him. Jake saw most everything now, there wasn't anything she couldn't tell him or show him.

She was deeply glad that she'd carefully used lotion last night and that her clothes were new and she hadn't selected anything ratty, as silly as that seemed, it was on the forefront of her mind.

Jake seemed intent on touching her with the lightest of touches, and Sam felt like she was going to float away or scream at him and beg him to touch her more, touch her for real and stop teasing her with circles and shapes on her skin, even as the touch was just enough to let her relax and know that he was there.

She was lightheaded and relaxed as he ran the ice cubes over her side. Her whole world had been stripped away to the very basics, the very center of want and need in her life. This was the space she had to come back to in the world, here, with Jake.

They spoke as he iced her side, as she finally made her wishes known and Jake touched her properly. The simple shift in pressure, the simple increase, had nearly stopped all rational thought. Then she had said, "Show me."

Sam could not believe her boldness. It felt like she was putting all of her cards on the table. She had no idea what was coming after this, but she wanted to see as much of him as he was seeing of her, wanted to know if the blatantly tactile thoughts rushing through her mind were merely adrenaline fueled by context, or if they were a manifestation of something else they both shared.

Sam's heart beat double-time when Jake started to fumble with his buttons. Sam decided to help him out, and worked down the buttons as their fingers tangled under the placket. The texture of his shirt was very real under her fingers as she fought the urge to gather it up and just feel it.

Sam inhaled sharply when he pulled the shirt off and dropped it off the side of the bed.

There, on his chest, was a turtle. The whole moment took her breath away, made her feel like the world outside their space had faded away to nothingness. It was the drawing she had made weeks ago on his chest, somehow placed permanently there with ink. It was her work etched in his skin, a part of her with him forever.

Sam sat up then, ignoring the slight twinge in her side, and looked into his eyes as she repeated an old nursery rhyme, "I love you so much, I like you so well, if you were a turtle, I'd be the shell."

Sam ran her fingers over the healing skin. She nearly toppled over, and Jake bracketed her body with his arms again. Sam breathed and understood what was happening, what was being said, without a single word between them.

Her tattoo honored their shared past even as it honored her own strength. His was also honoring his strength, even as it lit a path towards the future, for she too, knew the meaning of a turtle. They was a duality there that reminded her so much of their relationship.

Jake didn't say anything, truth shinning in every line of his expression, truth he didn't even try to hide from her. That was the turtle, all wrapped up in words that had been a part of them for as long as they could recall, gliding into the future with a steady path that would protect them always. What were they doing here? How had they gotten here, bare before each other, physically and emotionally vulnerable in yet another way? Sam didn't know.

Thoughts were rushing in her mind. She was on the edge of something, on the edge of something new.

Sam had been confused when she realized that Jake was her space. She wasn't confused now, not held in his arms as she was now. This out of the blue interaction put so much to rights in her mind.

He was her space in the world because they were friends, because they both poured everything they had into the relationship, into trust and honesty. He was her space in the world, just as she was his.

There was no judgement, even as she knew she was silently judging every bodily imperfection and her own awareness of how new this was. This was new, she realized. This was new. This wasn't a sensation that the accident had stolen, because she had never been so lost in these sensations before, had never before felt this prickle under her skin, this aching something wonderful that took her breath away.

Sam's grin could have lit a small city.

"What?" Jake asked in reaction to her shift in expression. "What's going on in your head?"

"Impulses." Sam shook her head softly, when he asked her about them with the simple rise of his eyebrow. Somehow putting the varying images in her mind into words seemed graphic and unneeded between them. "You know we're strange, right?"

Jake hand was on her hip, steadying her. Sam didn't think he realized how slowly his hand was sliding up her side, how achingly slowly it was moving towards her arm, her shoulder, her face. There were sparkles everywhere, as though the normal sensations his touch left on her skin had been magnified a thousandfold. "Why?" The grin on his face was caring, interested.

Sam understood now, how moments like these could be so much more than simple passion. There was the joy of knowing that they were here with each other, the gut churning anticipation of wondering what might happen next, being glad that she was clean and smelled nicely, and the the humor that came from knowing how silly some of this was. It was beautiful and honest, but it wasn't anything other than an extension of their relationship and every thread and theme that ran through it.

She wanted to kiss him, wanted to press her lips to his, wanted to know what it would feel like, wanted to know that whatever she felt, her mind wouldn't compare his embrace to one before the accident. That desire to know, to feel without judgement or analysis, nearly overwhelmed her. She wanted to feel. It would not be compared to anything before the accident because there had been nothing like this in her life before, and for once, Sam was glad.

Nothing was going to spoil this, not even the fact that she had absolutely no idea how to kiss somebody, and neither did he, really, and she had no idea if her breath was stinky, and did that matter? Was she supposed to open her mouth? Did he just know what she wanted?

No, that was crazy. He never really knew any other time. No, she had to find the words to say, "I want your hands on me, and I want..." She tried not to think in too much detail about what she wanted to feel, wanted to know, wanted to experience and learn about them, together, like this.

Sam grinned, "We're here, like this, and..." She swallowed, her grin faded as Jake's eyes grew darker, somehow, though more bright. Sam's heart was pounding as his slow perusal set her aflame. She fell into the trust of their relationship. Her grin faded, leaving raw honesty in its place. He might shoot her down, but at least he would know, "We're here and we're not kissing."

Jake blew out a breath that danced along the side of her face. Sam didn't know where to put her hands, so she left them where they were, steadying herself by holding onto Jake. Anticipation rose within her as Jake's words began, earnest, emotional, and deeply true, "I want to feel you, Sam. I want to kiss you, and I want everything..." Jake's hand slowly moved up her spine, stealing her focus and the trail of his thoughts. His hand spanned the crinkled fabric of her skirt, "but I won't. I'm in hell, Brat, because I want to kiss you and I can't."

A huge wave of disappointment crashed through her, "I, uh, get it." 

Shame and heat rushed through her, a heat that robbed her of her passion and left nothing but dying embers in its place. What had felt so special and right and natural seconds ago, felt silly now. She felt like she was making a spectacle. Desires that she would have willingly voiced, willingly screamed without shame, now, felt embarrassing because they were only on her side. He could say he wanted to kiss her all he wanted, but he wouldn't actually put his mouth where his mouth was, for lack of a better saying. That said it all.

Sam, in that second, thought of Viola. He must be into her. And Sam had...done something horrible, in trespassing upon that. Even if he had only just met someone he liked, Sam knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would never betray what he knew to be right and honorable, not even with her. Sam felt shame, not only because she looked foolish because he didn't want her, but also because she had forgotten there was someone he did want, at least more than he wanted her. 

They had had their moment, their one good shot, and it was gone. Sam knew Jake loved her. She knew it, but he...

Jake shook his head, and looked her straight in the eye, "I can't kiss you because you're medicated, Sam."

"I'm not high!" She shot back. She wasn't, she knew that this was all her, all her, warts and cognitions and all. The medication she'd taken had been a really small dose. It had only been enough to take the edge off, "Look at me, do I sound or look high to you?"

Jake shook his head, "We wouldn't have gotten this far if for one second I thought you were out of it, but there are..." Jake trailed off when he saw that she was no longer looking at him. The pattern of the sheets were much safer, "Listen to me, Brat, listen." Sam wasn't sure she could, but she looked back at him, as he continued. "We have to talk about...this...and..."

Sam gaped. "You want to have a DTR?" The idea of having a discussion wherein they defined who they were to each other and what they wanted from each other seemed so...silly. They knew each other, and he knew darn well she didn't go around begging random boys to kiss her or anything else, not even just this once.

Jake nodded, slowly, like he was waiting for her reaction. "Course."

Sam was honest. "I like our relationship." She hadn't thought about it changing. She didn't want it to change. She just had wanted to get lost in the sensations that their touch, the emotions felt between them. She liked being his friend, but if the role in his life changed, then he would go to Darrell with things he suddenly could not tell her because of the redefinition that had happened. She was not willing to allow one action, no matter how much she wanted it, to change everything she loved about their relationship.

She would not trade one kind of intimacy for another. "I don't want our relationship to change, but I really want..."

Sam was glad that he was not hurt by her words. She didn't want to be his girlfriend or something. She didn't want that label, those expectations. "Don't think I don't want you. I'm annoyed with myself, too." Jake was thoughtful, as he sighed and held her. "But nothing we decide to do about this would change us, Sam. I promise."

Sam put her head down on his shoulder and sighed. Something that had seemed so simple moments before now seemed utterly complex. An extension of who they were that had seemed so completely natural was now not quite so straightforward.

_But darling this time, let your memories die_

_Darling just once, let yesterday go_

_You'll find more love than you've ever known_

_Just hold me tight when you love me tonight_

_And don't close your eyes_

_Don't Close Your Eyes,_  Keith Whitley

Sam was glad that she had been spared the awkwardness of putting on her clothes again in front of Jake. Somehow putting them on was more intimate than taking them off, and she felt vulnerable enough. She knew Jake had been looking forward to smoothing the arnica and the witch hazel into her marred skin, but Quinn slamming the front door and hooting his name in the house made it impossible.

She'd grabbed her shirt and bolted before Quinn had set one boot on the stairs. Quinn wasn't going to see her like this. She would sooner die. She couldn't do anything about the look on her face, but she could make darn sure that no one suspected the root cause of her racing heart and flushed skin. Better, she thought, to blame it on the trip into the bannister.

Sam hid in her bedroom, smoothing the liquids into her skin. Where the hell was her head? She had just thrown herself at her best friend, just had pulled off her clothes and as good as begged him to cross so many lines in their relationship without care for his feelings on the matter.

She cared, she knew. She wanted him to want her, wanted him to want to feel, somehow, even half of the things he made her feel on a basic, intrinsic level. Selfishly, though, her desires were about her.

Sam wasn't asking for a relationship based on anything other than what they already had between them. She kind of just wanted to try and add something to it. She wasn't asking for a series of kisses or embraces, just one, if that was all Jake was willing to share with her.

She just wanted to figure it out, figure out how it would feel to be near to Jake like that, wanted to feel a moment that was wholly rooted in the present and the future, somehow. It was as simple as that. It flew in the face of what the church taught. You weren't supposed to kiss before marriage, but Sam understood that God was more concerned with other things, at least in her mind. It felt right, and honest, and true, and holy. Wanting Jake to kiss her did not feel like a sinful desire, though what that said about her, she did not know.

There was yet another knock at her door. Sam looked up, surprised to find Gram poking her head in. "Hey, honey."

Gram sat down on the bed. "Your father and I, we need to have a chat with you." Sam's heart started to pound. She had crossed one line too many with Jake, and Quinn had found out, or Luke or somebody had heard or seen or something and something was going to happen about it. Unaware of Sam's inner struggle, Gram scooted forward, "It's just to make sure you're okay. Jen just left twenty minutes ago, so I came on here, after I rescheduled your PT."

Sam looked at the clock, shocked at how little time had actually passed, when she considered how much had happened for her.

Gram misread her expression, "The clinic understood, and they'll see your later this week."

Sam smiled, and put the lid on the witch hazel, "No, that's not what I meant. What's going on?"

Gram tapped her toes as she boosted up on the bed. Sam nearly laughed at the action. "I wanted to make sure you're okay. Your dad does, too." Gram replied, "You would tell us if you weren't, right?"

Sam nodded. She would have had a low key afternoon, if she hadn't thrown herself at her best friend. God, she knew it was all right, that Jake didn't hate her for it, that he didn't mind the idea, but she wondered if he only wanted it because she wanted it. She wanted him to want her just as selfishly as she wanted him. "I made...friends today."

Sam set on friends rather than saying she'd met people she could relate to. Being there had been something like being back in the ward, back in a place that her oddity was normal, even as she was wholly unique. It had been a comforting idea, one she was not willing to explain too deeply, in case she gave it too much importance and lost it altogether.

Gram looked pleased. "And only two weeks in!" Gram went on about that, asking who she had met, and how she had come to know them. Sam replied in kind, telling her the bare facts of the gym class she had met.

Sam tried to downplay their differences. She did not mention that Millie was pregnant or that many of the people seemed a little less than normal. Sam wasn't normal herself, but Sam knew Gram couldn't deal with that anymore than she really could. She fit in more with the people she had met today, more than she did with the kids she had known most of her life. It was surreal, but true.

The people she had known all her life, except for Ally, Jen, and Darrell acted like she fell of the face of the earth now that she hadn't been around for a while. She felt alone and out of sync at school, like an old woman at a kiddie birthday party, and she hoped these new friends would help her to overcome that feeling.

A big knot of tension left Sam when she sat down to dinner, and Jake sat down too, like he wasn't annoyed, and wasn't put off by her. She began to accept that he'd meant what he'd said. This, whatever this was, and whatever happened, would not change their friendship.

She held his hand during prayer, and it was fine, it was normal. His fingers trailed lightly over the bear and he knew how to hold her hand without driving her sensory issues up the wall. It seemed he only did it when he wanted to do it. It was a normal interaction, unchanged and unaffected. It was glorious, and it gave her hope. She had indeed found a safe space within their relationship, within the part of herself that cared about Jake Ely.

_She'd have to fight to live, I broke down and cried_

_She held me and said it's gonna be alright_

_Never once complained, refusing to give up_

_And I thought I was tough_

_She's strong, pushes on, can't slow her down_

_She can take anything life dishes out_

_She's a gentle word, the sweetest kiss_

_A velvet touch against my skin_

_There was a time, back before she was mine_

_When I thought I was tough_

_Tough,_ Craig Morgan

Jake knew he had to do this. One glance at Sam had her support. She knew what was going on. They'd talked last night about shadowing, even though then there was nothing concrete planned. They'd even talked about telling his parents last night, as her hair had dried and the energy from his chocolate bar had worn off. He had to do this.

Sam set down her fork, and gave him a look of empathy. He waited for a time to break in over the din, ending the conversation that he and Sam had been having nonverbally.

Wyatt beat him to it, though. "Sam..." he said, "We need to revisit the issue of school."

Jake waited for Sam to reply, knowing full well that she had no intention of doing anything else. "I'll be in tomorrow." Sam dared anyone to contradict her with that tone. Jake wasn't going to do it publicly, but there was no way. She wasn't in pain now, but when the bruises had a little time, they'd hurt. He was not in any way glad of that fact, he just didn't think she realized that moving would be tough tomorrow.

She tilted her chin when her father looked at her. "I've had bruises before."

"Sammy." Mom said, gently. "This is not fair to you. You need to give your alternatives a shot. I graded your quizzes, honey, and I really think you would do so much better in an alternate environment."

"I failed them, didn't I?" Sam asked. The expression on her face was somehow calmly accepting, even if it was defiant in a resigned way, as though she had been expecting such news. He remembered her saying how tough it was to focus in the classroom, and how she had been in pain when the second quiz came about, but that there was nothing to do about it, or about the people tapping pencils and distracting her.

"We don't need to discuss the details now." Mom backpedaled, a blush on her face telling them all everything that they needed to know. Sometimes, a non-answer was more an answer than a statement of fact.

Jake hated that she would try to save face now. "You opened the door, Mom." Jake tried to remind her that this turn in the conversation was her fault. She owed Sam her honesty. Sam had given every bit of her own honesty, and she deserved the same measure of it back.

"What I hear Max saying..." Grace said, "is that the extension is a valid option that might allow you to do better and excel. I think we need to hear her out, or your objections to it."

"I made friends today." Sam replied, "They seem nice." Jake wanted to know more about them, wanted to meet them, wanted to know what had really happened today. She hadn't said, and he shot her a look. He tried not to be hopeful, but if there were people there at the school that made her feel like she wanted to be there...

"Your social development is important." Mom broke into their silent conversation. Jake realized that she'd been observing it, though she couldn't really read it.

Quinn rolled his eyes and gestured with his spoon at her wording, which earning him a glare from Dad. "And so, we think that you should go to school for your club meetings and one class of your choice. Sra. Hernandez is keen to keep you." Mom added.

Sam was silent. After a moment, she spoke. "Max, tell me what I would have to do."

Wyatt looked thrilled.

Jake had no desire to tell him that he hadn't won yet. Sam wanted information, not persuasion, and she could easily turn something back on them, find a flaw or a hole.

Mom began to speak excitedly. She told Sam that her classes would be handled by the district virtual school, with asynchronous classes that were divided up into units, modules, and lessons. There were two units a year long class, with each module comprising a group of lessons. Each lesson contained two days of work. Sam would be required to complete at least two and a half lessons of work a week in each class, though otherwise she could work at her own pace and on her own schedule, unless she took virtual classes in real time versus the self paced ones the district recommended for her situation.

She was, Mom said, more than welcome to blend any of her virtual classes with clubs from the high school and a few hours a week of class time, though the class time was optional. Mom went on and on, excited about her project. Grace had realized, then, as had Mom, that Sam had all but dropped out of the FFA, and the ag teacher hadn't reached out to her once. Neither had, Jake realized, the journalism club. 

Mom sent Dad to get the laptop, and played various videos and walkthroughs as the potatoes grew cold and the gravy congealed.

Sam glanced at him occasionally, and Jake gave her his opinion.  _It looks kind of cool, Brat. You know it does._

Maybe it wasn't what she wanted to hear, but it didn't look half bad. He would have done it himself, had he had the shot. He was doing something like it now, he realized.

Grace spoke, hopefully, "So?" Jake knew that some of Sam's objections were gone in the face of how cool this seemed to her. He could see the wheels turning in her mind, could practically see the horse madness shining in her eyes, see her thinking about all the ways she would use the energy she wasn't wasting in that building.

Her struggles weren't academic, and they weren't social. She simply had trouble right now because the other students were idiots and did things like slam their lockers over and over.

Sam was thoughtful and calm. "If I do this, and I mean if, I would like gym to be my class at the high school, and I want J.J. to keep out of my office, and I want to take the print making elective they offer online." She calmly listed a series of wants that were reasonable.

Jake thought she should have held out for a new desk and maybe some other emotional bribes, "I also want it to be clear that I am not giving up and I am not a quitter. If you guys think this will work, I'll do it."

Jake wondered how she could have ever thought that anyone saw her like that. She was changing a few things, the method but not the goal or anything else about it. Jake shook his head minutely at her, not believing her for a second. Sam gazed back questioningly. She did not care what he thought about her self-perceptions, apparently. They needed words for this one, so the conversation would have to wait.

Wyatt looked at his mother. He nodded, "I'll send the paperwork in with you in the morning, Max." The 'if' in Sam's words had been largely ignored, but Sam did not look put off by it.

Mom nodded, "The district will send out your books by mid-week, Sam, and the computer will be sent along with them, and your tablet." Mom referenced the technology that the district gave students in the program. "We'll sit down and go over it all, okay?"

It was only when he heard the comforting tone in Mom's voice that he looked over at Sam and saw that she had gone white, "But..." She said, softly, "My lunchbox is in my locker." Sam clearly, had not realized, how fast this was going to happen.

She was struggling for emotional equilibrium. Jake held her hand under the table.

"If you want to get it, you may, Sam." Mom said, "It's no big deal." She was watching Sam carefully, as was Grace. Wyatt seemed pleased, but Jake wasn't so sure about this anymore.

"No." Sam shook her head, "No. I want a clean break. I would rather the school stayed where it is in my mind. There's no going back, so we'll go forward." Her tone was resolute, "When I tell Jen, she'll bring it home to me."

Jake wished he could hug Sam as the wall went up in her eyes. She was counting on every ounce of steel in her spine to carry her through this. It was the right choice, though Jake wanted to argue against it now that he saw how much the little things seemed to mean to Sam.

He hadn't cared on bit about his locker, but he heard pain in Sam's voice when she asked, "Do you think I could keep my locker?"

Wyatt started to ask why on earth that mattered, but Mom cut him off with a slow nod. "As long as you go to one class, you're entitled to a place to hang your hat. I see no reason why it can't be locker 407."

Sam smiled, then. "I'm glad I can keep my space." Jake understood her fears. She was desperate to keep her space, keep her ranch safe from the woman and her father, desperate to cling to the things that had always been hers. It was reasonable, and if she wanted to keep that rickety locker until the day she died, he had no doubt that it would happen.

She looked over at Quinn who was scarfing down every cookie on the plate like he'd never eaten. "Quinn, stop stuffing your face."

He spoke roundly, around a mouthful of cookie, "Ah augh nawt!" Dad passed the plate over, and Sam bit into a cookie. Jake took one, too, and thought.

_You're the best friend that I ever had_

_I've been with you such a long time_

_You're my sunshine_

_And I want you to know_

_That my feelings are true_

_I really love you_

_You're my best friend_

_You're my Best Friend_ , Queen

Jake walked into the barn, surprised to find Sam still there, talking to Witch. He'd rather thought she'd gone down to the swing. He came up behind her, and wrapped his arms about her waist. He was glad, that even what had nearly developed between them this afternoon, that things were still normal.

He'd looked and he couldn't find a shred of awkwardness, although he wondered if there shouldn't be some somewhere. It only seemed logical that there would be, but there wasn't, not even in the direction his thoughts were now taking. He didn't wish for it. He didn't relish the idea of sleeping somewhere else if she thought going to bed would be awkward. They'd have to talk then, but he knew that wouldn't be the case. Somehow, he just knew that she wouldn't have brought it up if it would have been that way.

Seeing Sam like that, eyes glazed over with want, hadn't changed how he saw her now, only added to the ways that he could see her, added to the kaleidoscopic understanding and representations of Sam in his mind. He didn't respect her any less for making what she wanted explicitly clear. In fact, that had taken an incredible amount of trust in both herself, and in him. She had to trust herself to know her own mind and heart, and trust him to handle them with care.

He had done his best, to honor that and his growing understanding of deep rooted desires. "Hey."

Sam made a humming sound, and fell silent. She didn't want to talk, then. Jake rested his head on top of hers, gently, using her ever so slightly as a headrest, begging for attention like Kitty might have done. "You're such a dweeb. What do you want?" Sam looked up, and he lifted his head to look down at her wide smile.

His heart raced, but it was the normal kind, the every time he saw her kind. He liked this kind. This was the kind of racing pulse that he had come to expect when she smiled like that. It was his heart reminded him that it beat for that smile. "I got a shadow spot. I used all of your hard work with Greeley Haskins to get in with his owner." Jake replied, offering his hand to lace through hers. "Three days a week starting next week. Are we really doing this?" It felt so surreal, like everything was coming together so fast.

Sam replied, "Yes. Just think, in 10 years, you'll have some letters after your name, massive debts, probably a sleep disorder and an unhealthy amount of stress in your life. The pay will suck until you're ninety, and every vacation you take will be to some medical conference." She changed tracks, "Then again, the social, economic, and educational capitol you'll possess might be worth it. Plus, you'll get all sorts of fringe benefits, like the ability to ditch anything you want by claiming to be busy saving lives, and the health insurance will be swell."

Jake made a sound of agreement. They didn't need the words, but sometimes he liked to feel them within him. "What are you going to do?"

"Oh..." Sam replied, "I don't know. I'm probably just going to run my ranch and spend all the money you make and are to busy to spend yourself when you're old." She snorted at the joke, "What are friends for, anyhow?"

"Sam." Jake said, the joking gone from his voice. He needed her to know this. "If you don't want to do the online classes, Mom can go hang. This is your life." He wanted her to understand that every once of support she gave him was returned. He could not live if she didn't know that he was backing her up.

"No." Sam replied, "See, I have a plan. I'm going to do my school like this, and you're going to start helping me learn to ride again in my free time." She looked at Witch. "School is nowhere near as important as my work or the ranch, and somebody's got to watch that awful man so my barn doesn't become an episode of Hoarders."

Jake changed the subject, "Are you mad about the turtle?" He needed to mention those moments, remind himself that they had shared them, and that he hadn't passed out in some kind of lust driven delirium at some point.

He guessed he wanted to know how she was feeling about it all, but he didn't know how to ask her. It wasn't like he could just ask her if she regretted her words. He didn't want to ask her that. It would break him if she did.

"Did I seem mad to you?" Sam asked, rhetorically. "I think it's nice. If I had known, though, I would have gone with you. I wish I knew why you hid it from me."

"It just felt right, and there weren't words that matched up to why." Jake admitted. He had wanted a great moment to bring it up, and in screwing it up, he'd gotten a perfect one instead. He could not bring himself to regret the circumstances under which Sam had seen the truth.

Sam sighed deeply, a sound of cleansing and release, not censure that caused Jake to relax around her. There didn't need to be words after that, and, hand in hand, they headed for the house only to hear the adults in the kitchen and Quinn, who called out as they entered. "Hey, who wants to lose at Xbox?"

 _You are the most clever, most stupid, most whatever_  
You are the most honorable soldier, superhero, pretty as a cat  
You have integrity that I can not conceive  
You are opinionated, you are my belief  
You are so good, you are so bad  
You have experienced things I never have  
You take me, you take me  
You take me somewhere I have never been

 _My Best Friend is You_ , Kate Nash


	21. Ampersand

_Well, this road I'm on's gonna turn to sand and leave me lost in a far off land_

_So let me ride the wind til I don't look back_

_Forget the life that I almost had._

_Tell my brother please not to look for me_

_I ain't the man that I used to be._

_But if my savior comes could you let him know_

_I've gone away for to save my soul?_

_The Longer I Run_ , Peter Bradley

Jake tapped away at the keyboard, finishing up a annotated bibliography for an assignment. He hit tab to create the hanging indent, only to find that it threw off the rest of the spacing in the entry. He corrected the spacing, and did one final spell check, hurrying along before Quinn came in to submit the assignment. It was worth 250 points, so he hoped it was all right.

Jake shut the computer and stacked his folders, mind made up.

He was going to tell Dad. Dad had the right to know what he was doing before he went to Ballard, out of respect. Mom, he knew, would be told when he could work up the guts. He left the kitchen table and headed to the barn, bracing himself against a cool wind.

How had it gotten so chilly so quickly? Jake hoped they weren't in for an overly cold and dry winter. They needed the snow melt to get on in the rest of the year. "Dad." Jake said, finding his father going over feed in the feed room.

Dad looked up. "Hand me that screwdriver." Jake passed it over. Dad, he saw, was repairing the lid of one of the wooden feed bins. They had to be very carefully cared for to ensure the health of the horses. The lid was loose and that wasn't a good thing, not if there was any possibility of snakes or rodents.

Jake passed it over and Dad quickly worked, waving off an offer of help. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?" Dad shook the lid, and found that it was tighter than it had been. He began to inspect the rest of the bins. Glad to have something to do, Jake began on the other end of the bins and set to work.

Jake decided that he needed to be as honest as he knew how to be. "When I was..." he forced out the word. He wasn't ashamed of having been in treatment, but it was hard to talk about his weaknesses with his father, a man who appeared to have very little time for such concerns. He wasn't sure his father would be empathetic, "in treatment, I made a decision." Yes, Jake thought, that was a good way to frame this.

His father stopped working and looked up, aware from a note in Jake's tone that this was a serious conversation. Jake hadn't wanted this to be so serious. Dad was looking at him, questioning, searching, and for a moment, he looked rather like Grandfather. "Oh."

Jake nodded. "You need to know that this wasn't easy, and that I..." he didn't want to hurt his parents, didn't want to make them sad. "I think this best for me." Jake was glad for the save at the last second. He had nearly said that this was the best choice for him and Sam, which would not go over well.

"Jake." Dad said. Jake understood as his hand brushed over the wood grain of the feed storage units that he had given too much context and not enough information. He had no idea what his father was thinking.

"I'm shadowing a GP and not Ballard." Jake did not explain what shadowing was, because his father knew all too was a paramedic, or had been. Jake did not delve into the kind of medicine he hoped to one day practice. It seemed to be too much, too fast, and he needed to get the basic facts, make his father understand this before he got into the details and the future implications. "I start Monday."

His father blinked, twice. "A GP?" He clarified, and Jake realized that the term was outdated. "Primary Care?" Dad looked at him questioningly.

"Yeah." Jake affirmed. "I really don't want to be a cop anymore, Dad. That's the decision I made in treatment. I don't have it in me to go that way, anymore." Jake explained, softly, "And I thought about it, and I realized that, if I was honest myself, that I wanted to go to medical school."

"Well." Dad said, swallowing. "You've made up your mind?" Dad shifted, and Jake felt a surge of pain in his heart, one that was only mitigated through knowing that this was a step on the right path for him.

"Yes, sir." Jake replied, "I have." The was little else to say. He did not say that he did not need his father's support, though he wanted it. He wanted to know that he had his father in his corner. Jake did not explain the extent of his plans, tell his father about the things he and Sam had begun to discuss.

A ghost of a smile danced across his father's face, "This wasn't what I expected to hear, but if this is what you want, Jacob, you know you have my support."

Jake had not expected this reaction. He had expected questions, like when Seth had insisted on law school. There had been nothing but questions then, though in the end, Dad was supportive. Jake was thankful that this hadn't been as difficult as he'd expected, though he guessed it came from his father being a Paramedic. He was highly educated and valued the process of being a medical professional, and what's more, he understood it. His job as a paramedic had kept the ranch going for a lot of years.

Jake paused, "Thanks, Dad." His father was pleased, it seemed, that at least one of them was following in his footsteps. God, he wasn't becoming his father, was he?

Dad nodded carefully, "Have you thought about telling your mother?"

Jake relaxed a bit. His father understood clearly why he had been approached first. "Any ideas?"

_The storm in its fury break today crushing hopes that we cherish so dear_

_Clouds and storm will in time pass away, the sun again will shine bright and clear._

_Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side_

_Keep on the sunny side of life_

_It will help us every day_

_It will brighten all the way_

_If we keep on the sunny side of life._

_Keep on the Sunny Side_ , The Carter Family

Sam stared at the box before her. Her name was written on a label on top and she was hesitant to cut through the packing tape and dig into the contents. Gram took of her apron and said, "This is just like getting Christmas presents."

Sam looked at the package. It was a large cardboard box that Dallas had carried home from the post office. Sam knew what this was, and she wasn't sure she wanted to open it. Dad had asked her not to come out to the barn, so she was stuck in the house, facing this. It was daunting. The sound the tape made as Gram ripped it away was loud.

Sam took the bull by the horns, and lifted out the packing list. Slowly, Gram pulled out the textbooks. They were bright and shining, glinting, unused and unmarred by the hands of countless students. They were soft covered, though some were consumable, and some had to be returned.

Each textbook came with a course guide. As Gram sorted the resources into piles by course, she realized that they were color coded. The math book was held together by rings, and the cover was mauve. Other courses had other colors, though the realization seemed obvious to Sam once her mind made it.

Sam reached for the purple textbook and the matching outline. It was English. She flipped through the course outline, and saw that each page was an outline of the lesson. The page was filled with pictures and words. Their crisp shapes filled her eyes as the smooth paper filled her senses. The design was really beautiful, and her artist's mind saw how flowing and sensible the progression of the daily work seemed to be. The vocabulary or samples of the text was sometimes included throughout the page. At the bottom of the page was a checklist, one that made it clear everything that needed to be done for the lesson.

This was a blank slate, a fresh start. Sam looked up at Gram. "I think I can do this."

Gram paused as finished pulling out a few computer peripherals. "I never doubted it." She put the box on the floor, "How nice these books are!"

Their crispness was empowering. These books were hers. She could do this, could make this work, could find the beauty in a situation she still wasn't quite sure she wanted, all told. She knew she could. Sam ran her fingers over the spiral rings of the course guide. There was a note stuck to the top of one of the books. Gram passed it to her when Sam tried to reach for it, but flinched because of her side. Sam read it out loud.

_Sam-_

_Welcome to the virtual school offered by the district! I'm Mrs. Church, and I'm your Educational Support staff member. In other words, I'm your homeroom teacher, your guidance counselor, and whatever else you might need to work best with your course teachers. My extension is 4109. I'm in the office during school hours. I'll be calling you once a week, and you're more than welcome to swing by my office anytime you like._

_To make sure you understand the computer system, please log onto the CMS and click through your course home pages. Upon each introductory page, you'll find some small quote of inspirational value. When you find one you like, please email me what it is and on which course page you found it. It's a silly quiz, I know, but rules are rules. Please also feel free to tell me anything you like about yourself._

_Enclosed in the box, you will find a sign up sheet for our pen pal program, a schedule of events, online clubs, and some other fun stuff. Please fill out them, and the not so fun forms, and have your father sign where I've marked with a red 'X' and return them. You are also more than welcome to have Maxine Ely stick them in the district mail box at the High School._

_Looking forward to hearing from you soon!_

_Best,_

_Mrs. Church_

Sam finished reading and folded the stationary back into the envelope. Gram had already begun to look through the papers. "Mrs. Church seems like a very nice lady. We should make a day of it and go and say hello sometime."

Sam nodded. She had not been aware that there were actual people involved in the process. She had thought that Max would drop off her books, and that would be that. She had envisioned herself sitting at the dining room table, doing copy work. Rather, it seemed that there was a lot to do, and many things she had not understood about this process. There was a lot of online work, it appeared, things like message boards and small group discussion. She was required to have Skype.

Gram, determined to make the best of this, was already pinning the school calendar to the fridge. "There's a cookie party for the high schoolers in a week or so." Gram said, "You should make the drive."

Sam was already trying to stand up. Jake had been right. Her side was killing her, and her forearm looked particularly disgusting. She finally pushed up with the hand that wasn't attached to a bruised arm, and shook her head. She was not going to a cookie party. If she wanted to have a cookie party, she'd be sane about it. She'd make the batter, bake a batch, and then carry the rest of the dough to the living room and watch  _Pride and Prejudice._ That was a cookie party.

_The pen's in my hand_

_Ending unplanned_

_Feel the rain on your skin_

_No one else can feel it for you_

_Only you can let it in_

_No one else, no one else_

_Can speak the words on your lips_

_Drench yourself in words unspoken_

_Live your life with arms wide open_

_Today is where your book begins_

_The rest is still unwritten_

_Unwritten_ , Natasha Bedingfield

Jake tossed a look at Quinn. Quinn tilted his head in agreement. Jake made a movement he hoped Quinn wouldn't see, and Witch took off like a shot. He heard his brother curse as they left him in the dust.

Witch took to flying across the range like she hadn't missed a day of doing it. The air was whooshing all around them, and in the heady moment of action and reaction, Jake came to terms with a conclusion he had reached ages ago and never quite admitted to himself.

Quinn was thundering up behind him on Chip, but Witch evaded the loss of their lead. Jake couldn't help the rush that flitted through him. He wanted Sam. Ayers probably had some kind of spidey sense, and was dancing on his desk without quite knowing why. The old man should be pleased at the breakthrough. That's what it felt like, anyhow. The fact that he was no longer rationalizing the sexual desire he felt for her meant that he understood so much about their relationship.

He wasn't saying that this was a forever thing. Sam didn't want the dynamics of their relationship to change. He respected that, even if he did not quite understand how he could want the same thing. His mind was a mess. He felt like, now that he'd thought about that facet of their life together, that he couldn't ignore it.

It was there, right there, next to the way he coveted her soft smiles, the way he could never look away when she wrinkled her nose, and his annoyance at some of the things she said and did. He was relieved to find that a desire to run his hands over her body until she moaned and shuddered did not take away from anything else they shared. In some way, the whole facet that was coming to light added value to their friendship, added to his whole understanding of who they were, and the other things they had.

He wasn't comfortable using the word lust to describe what he was feeling, because that wasn't all of it. It wasn't an urge of the flesh, he supposed, as the Pastor might say, but that wasn't to say that there wasn't some part of the whole thing that was. The desire he felt, the way his mind kept going back to the moments they had shared, wasn't the totality of their relationship. It wasn't even the most important part. But, hell, was it fun to think about, even if it did make his palms slick against Witch's reins.

It was fun to think about because it was, really, about Sam. It wasn't fleshly, because it was about their minds and their souls and their hearts, too. They didn't have to check their friendship at the door. He had no idea where his mind was at, but if felt like his body did, right now, flying across the range.

He was secure in the saddle as his fingers moved along the reins, asking Witch to slow. Quinn caught up in a few seconds. His brother asked, "You work it out yet?" Quinn asked, thinking that Jake was thinking about how to tell Mom about medical school.

Jake smiled, and shook his head, "I'm a bit closer, I think."

Quinn grinned, "I don't know how you do your best thinking then. Chip would never let me think." He patted the neck of his horse affectionately.

Witch made a snuffly noise. Jake smirked. His horse was clearly the superior one of the sibling pair. It was only rational that they should be fairly matched.

Quinn flipped him off. After a moment of riding, Quinn said something that made Jake pause, "You know, we could probably get the truck out here to fix that gate today."

Jake looked at him askance. They were surveying what needed to be done before they brought the cattle back down to lower elevations for the winter months, which were coming quickly. They were going to be making note of what needed to be done, and starting tomorrow. Wyatt was going to be doing his portion, and Grandfather's team would be involved. Good fences made good neighbors, after all. "Why?"

"Didn't Sam say she was doing this whole thing to get her work back?" Quinn said, "And what's ranching but miles and miles of wire and gates that are forever breaking?"

Jake smiled. She would enjoy sitting out here, even if she couldn't do the heavy lifting right now. He thought for a second, and his enthusiasm was dampened, "She might see through that, like we were giving her easy work or something."

Quinn grinned slowly, "Well, just tell her it's a pretext to get her alone or something." His brother shrugged, and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

Something icy built inside of Jake. Quinn did not know. He could not know. It wasn't that he was ashamed of it, but the idea of their private life, whatever this was that was taking shape between, being known to his brother was abhorrent. "What?"

Quinn blinked back at him, startled by the urgency in his tone. Jake had not realized how the word would sound. He wished he could take it back, get his head on straight. "Geez, take a chill pill. I was just thinking she might want to get out a little. She's not going to hurt telling you how she wants a gate fixed."

Jake tried not to think about the fact that Witch was clearly laughing at him as she shared a look with her brother. He patted her neck. He had no luck or skill with women, clearly.

 _That's me in the corner_  
That's me in the spotlight  
Losing my religion  
Trying to keep up with you and I don't know if I can do it  
Oh, no I've said too much  
I haven't said enough

 _Losing My Religion_ , R.E.M.

Sam was not going to be held prisoner in the house. Gram was acting all squirrely, and Sam wasn't having it. "Just because I'm working at home doesn't mean I can't leave the house." Sam said. Besides, she couldn't very well do that email to Mrs. Church until she got on the computer, and her computer was charging in the office. "I'm going to get my laptop."

"Now, Sammy..." Gram asked, "Don't you want some lunch?" Sam narrowed her eyes at Gram. They'd already had a lunch, ages ago, one that Gram had insisted on making a big fuss out of, even though it was just the two of them. Everyone else was suspiciously off the radar.

Sam replied, as she moved gingerly towards the door. "We already ate." Sam reminded her grandmother. She did not add that Gram had fussed and fussed over the clean up, like she had never handled a dish. Sam came to the conclusion that something was being hidden from her as a look of desperation crossed her Gram's face.

Testing her theory, Sam put her hand on the doorknob. The door had been fully shut all day, which now made sense to her. Gram called out, "Sam, I really think all is well in the barn. You don't need to worry."

She hadn't been worried, but she was now. Her horses were out there. Who knew what was going on? What if one of the horses were hurt, or the chickens, or something? What if something was really wrong and no one had told her? The idea that she could be so cut out from her life and her roles was painful. Sam opened the door, and went outside, ignoring the twinge in her side as she made her way down the stairs.

Gram was upon her instantly. "Sam, he doesn't want you to find out like this." Gram put a hand on her arm, "You come inside, now, and we'll make some cookies."

"I'm not Darrell, Gram! I can't be bribed with cookies." Sam shook her head, and pulled away. "You were very wrong to be so complicent in this."

Sam started to walk away, her eyes watching the ground so that she wouldn't fall. Her flats moulded to every inch of the ground as she crossed it. There was a lot of noise coming from the barn, noise that did not make sense in the day to day operations of the place. Sam hurried along, feeling the material of her knit skirt wrap around her legs as she moved. She wished she had asked Gram to quickly help her with her boots. Gram wrung her hands in her apron as she followed Sam.

Sam gaped as the front of the barn came into view from where she had left the side of the house. There were tools all over the place. Dad's truck was blocking the front entrance, and it was clear that some project was going on, though what it was, Sam did not know. Pepper was there, and he saw her first, standing on the edge of the messy space. He spoke and her father straightened, looked right at Sam, and shook his head.

Gram went over to Dallas, whispering something quickly. Sam scowled, "What's all this?" She looked all around. He had not mentioned one thing about building something for the barn. Her eyes fell on the project. Sam's heart expanded. She felt glad, but embarrassed. No one should have gone to the trouble of all this. She wasn't going to be in the chair forever, and she did not need modifications.

"We're not quite done." Dad said, "You were supposed to stay inside." His hat cast a shadow as he spoke. "What do you think?" He sounded boyish and hopeful. It was kind of him, but Sam hadn't wanted to acknowledge the lack of a ramp on the barn. She was doing just fine without one. She could get the chair over the entryway simply enough.

"I..." Sam closed her mouth, unwilling to say what she was really thinking. She was embarrassed. "You didn't need to do this. I was doing fine." Sam tucked hair behind her ear and looked at her father. "There's a lot to do, and you didn't need to take a day and do this."

The ramp made the barn look really nice. It fit in well, and wasn't something that had been slapped together. The design made it clear. He'd spent a lot of time on this. Sam was embarrassed by it, embarrassed that she had appeared to be struggling so with getting the chair in the barn. She had been, but she would never have said, never. It was a point of pride.

She needed to set that aside, she realized, and acknowledge that this ramp was only a tool, just like the chair, and it would help her and not really hinder anyone else. She needed to acknowledge that what he had done, he had done out of care for her, and a deeper awareness of her life than she had previously given her father credit for. Maybe he did see a little bit of what was going on her life, and what mattered to her. This was kind of him, not only for the ramp, but for the willingness to make changes solely based on her needs.

"This old place needs a bit of sprucing, I think." Dad seemed taken aback that she was paying attention to the effort this was, like she had forgotten how much work went on day to day around here. Dad didn't even get holidays, work never stopped, not really, and the fact that he had taken the time to do this said a lot that she wasn't sure how to put into words. It didn't fit with the image of her father that she had in her head, and was pushing her to really consider his feelings. "There was nothing to it." Dad's gaze was again hopeful, "You like it, then?"

Sam swallowed, "It's great. Thanks, Dad." She paused, "I mean it."

Dad threw an arm around her shoulders, almost unbalancing her. "I figure we'll all need it one day."

Sam did her bit, and helped put in the rest of the ramp, in the context of what she could do, and what they would allow her to undertake. She then tested it out, and there was happiness all around. Sam had not considered that doing this for her would make them happy, but it did. Pepper, Dad, and Dallas, headed off to take care of actual work with smiles on their faces. As she and Gram swept up the debris that were always left behind from construction, Sam apologized, "I'm sorry I said you were wrong."

Gram paused in her sweeping, and laughed. "I was running out of ideas. I was getting desperate." Sam smiled. Gram had been getting desperate to keep her unawares, from turning the radio up to asking Sam's help with her crosswords puzzle, one that she normally finished in a snap. Sam found the lengths that everyone had gone to to be funny.

Sam needed to talk to somebody about how she was feeling. She didn't know if it was normal to feel embarrassed that they had gone to such efforts on her behalf, efforts that she should not need. "I feel embarrassed by this." Sam elaborated as she sat down on the top of a big storage bucket with a screw on lid. Her feet pushed into the ground as she tried to maintain her balance, "A bit ashamed. Like...singled out. Spotlighted." Sam supplied awkwardly, not having the words she needed to describe the feelings she felt.

She looked up then, when she heard Gram move towards her, "I know that everyone was glad to do it, I just wish they didn't have to." Sam didn't have the heart to ask if they were happy to do it because they were doing it for her, or because they felt they had to do it.

Gram looked at her sharply, "Honey, it's a bit of wood and some sweat. Nobody robbed a bank for you." Gram considered her, sitting there on the bucket, "It'll help everyone. It's good for a place to be accessible. When Papa was getting sick, he used to hate that coming in the old barn was so hard. Nobody thought to fix it up for him, and I regret that."

Gram paused, getting to what she saw as the heart of the matter, "You've made people think, honey, and that's the real gift. If others can't handle it, that's their problem, never yours."

Sam did not know how to reply. She wanted to believe Gram was right. She mumbled some half convincing platitude, and wandered off to her horses, just needing a little time to think. She'd spent a lot of time lately feeling embarrassed for facts. She had been embarrassed by making her needs known to Jake, and she felt embarrassed about the whole ramp thing. There wasn't really a connection, was there?

Sam didn't know. Maybe she was ashamed of her body, on some basic level that flared up sometimes. Maybe she did not want to be seen. Sam corrected her thoughts. She wanted to be seen, but to be seen as her, not as the 'brain injury girl' or somehow different. She got around in different ways, but that wasn't permanent.

_If I told you 'bout my sex life, you'd call me a slut_

_When boys be talking about their bitches, no one's making a fuss_

_Don't you want to have somebody who objectifies you?_

_Have you thought about your butt? Who's gonna tear it in two?_

_We've never had it so good, uh-huh, we're out of the woods_

_And if you can't detect the sarcasm, you've misunderstood_

_Hard Out Here,_  Lily Allen

Sam was working her office, having begun to correspond with Mrs. Church and look over the school website when she felt a heavy gaze upon her. It was warm and comfortable like Dad or Dallas or friendly like Pepper. Sam looked up sharply when she felt prickles down her spine, and not the kind she enjoyed. J.J. came into her office without so much as asking, and turned around and shut the door.

"Get out!" She snapped, unsure if she should grab the stapler or the phone first. What he was doing was incredibly threatening, and Sam felt her heart begin to pound as her mind whirled, considering options and outcomes. "What are you doing?"

"I just want to talk to you." He said, turning around, his slimebucket gaze resting on her body in a way that made her feel very creeped out. "This is a private...issue."

Sam didn't dare move. At least here she could slam her hand down on the intercom system that would link her into the kitchen, and Gram. Sam knew she was 10 seconds away from getting help if she needed it, so she inhaled and said, "If you want to talk about anything, you'll open that door, _now_."

He could be anything. He could have a record. She hadn't been around when he was hired. Did he intend to hurt her? 

Sam watched him carefully as J.J. opened the door and sat back down in her chair. "I apologize for frightening you." He shifted forward as she sat down in her corner chair, "I feel it my Christian duty to speak to you about something I've been seeing since you've come home."

Sam fought the urge to roll her eyes at his pompous formality. She knew Christian duty. That was a duty towards love and service, pouring yourself out on the world. Sam was a Christian, strong in her faith and the worldview it gave her. "Is there an issue with your working conditions?" Sam asked, pushing her swivel chair back into the desk, so as to put as much space as possible between them.

He was perhaps a year or two older than she was, but he was downright creepy.

J.J. blushed. "I've never said this to a girl before, but do you think we could take a look at the Scriptures together?"

Sam cut him off quickly, "I'm sorry?" Was he trying to ask her out on some kind of date, or to some kind of Bible Study thing? Either way, she was going to decline with no remorse. He was clinging to his Bible.

He opened the pages, and Sam saw that he had bookmarked a lot of the pages. He turned to one, and read it, before he spoke, very solemnly, "Does your father know that your boyfriend comes into your room every night you're home, Samantha?"

Sam was stunned. Part of her was scared. What did that even mean? Why would J.J. even care? How had he even seen that Jake was around? He always used his key, now, save for when he was locked out, which hadn't really happened.

She was nervous, because of course Dad didn't really know. He wasn't asking and she wasn't saying. He knew that she and Jake weren't involved in any way. He trusted her.

J.J. did not, obviously. He continued, his voice filling the stunned silence, "Does he know that you're fornicating in his house?" Sam did not even give that the dignity of a response, didn't even move. "Your father is a good Christian man, and you do him wrong by being a Jezebel."

He didn't even have the guts to use a real word, the word she knew he was thinking. Sam laughed, "Excuse me? A...a...what?" She was laughing, but inside, she was freaking out. His little sexist mind was probably assuming that she would be ever so willing to entertain him, too. She wasn't. 

J.J. shifted uncomfortably, flipping pages in his Bible. "I don't mean to offend you, Sam, but you come from an honorable family, and you should try to do better, especially given your...disability." He cautioned her, gently, "It isn't right to sleep with a man before marriage, even if you may never marry. Your father trusts Jake, speaks very highly of him. It would be a shame to see that crumble because you're unable to control yourself. It's your responsibility..."

Sam was furious, unable to see past the veiled threat in J.J.'s words, underneath his assertions that she wasn't normal, that she could never get married because of what happened to her. It was one thing to tell herself those things, but it was quite another to hear it from someone else so they could threaten your home. He was a good for nothing idiot, not for their shared faith, but because of how he was using it to threaten her.

She cut him off, with a few questions of her own. "What do you think my father would say about his new employee cornering his daughter in her office to lecture her on sexual ethics and threatening her with lies about her friend? Don't you think he would find it a little bit suspect, J.J., given that you so clearly covet Jake's role on this ranch?"

Sam let it be known exactly how much of a sin coveting was. J.J. must have been concerned at being called out on his game. He came in here, all concern and light, but he had nefarious purposes. It was clear he intended to go to Dad to try to discredit Jake in Dad's eyes, and gain favor in his place. Sam was not going to see that happen. Jake and Dad were so close to healing.

J.J. spoke, "Your friend?" His fingers fumbled on his Bible. Sam wanted to whack him across the head with it, and ask him what he thought Jesus would really think about him coming in her and imposing his views upon her, what his God would think of his assumptions. He did not know her, and yet, he was judging her. He had no empathy, and clearly had no desire to gain any.

Still, Sam wanted to give his tiny mind something to think about. He needed to grow up. He would get nowhere in work like this if he thought he could get ahead by putting Jake down. "Jake is my friend, and if you're threatening his role on this ranch, you have another thing coming." She wanted there to be peace in her family, didn't want Jake to be hurting so badly, and she refused to let this little boy even think that he could, in any way, be who Jake was. This wasn't even about what he thought of her.

His opinion did not matter. "Say what you will about me, I don't give a flying fuck, but Jake is an honorable man who has done nothing but pour himself into seeing that this ranch thrives when I couldn't."

Sam felt deadly calm as she outlined the facts, told J.J. the truth, even if he lacked the capacity to understand it. "He has done nothing but exceed every expectation my father ever had for him, nothing but be a friend to me when I couldn't even get out of a hospital bed." Sam was enraged, though her voice was deadly calm, like it might be when lecturing a small child who was unaware that they had nearly gotten themselves killed, "You may have filled a job vacancy, J.J., but what goes on here outside of your tasks is no concern of yours."

"I appear to have misjudged you gravely." J.J. apologized, as falsely as he was formal. "I had not realized you were quite so ill." He shut his Bible, and smiled at her.

His smile turned Sam's stomach. It was patronizing and pitying. He had no right to be nice to her as he threw stones at her. "What?"

J.J. stood up, "I'm sorry, Samantha." Before she could tell him anything, he was gone. Sam's hand did not relax on the stapler until she heard him leave the barn, and heard Pepper call out to him.

_I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation_

_You're living in the past it's a new generation_

_A girl can do what she wants to do and that's what I'm gonna do_

_An' I don't give a damn 'bout my bad reputation_

_Bad Reputation_ , Joan Jett

She was incredibly shaken. J.J. was not really a threat to her, beyond the systematic oppression of women that he seemed to twist their shared faith to embrace. He was not going to hurt her. She knew that he wanted this job too much.

He thought she was disgusting, and so he wasn't going to come after her. She wasn't going to allow her dwell on that fear. She wasn't going to allow the things he had implied about her to change her life. She was just scared for what he might try to do to the incredibly fragile balance of relationships on this ranch.

She was only just starting to find her feet with Dad. She enjoyed thinking about the ramp, about the progress she was making in her heart, and she didn't want J.J.'s power grab to mess that up. Sam figured he was cheesed because he'd gotten told about leaving his stuff in her office. It was clear to see that he wanted to get in good with Dad. When she really considered it, Sam figured that J.J. probably had thought he was close to Dad, when she was gone.

There was no one really to be in his way of whatever he was after. Then, she came home and they weren't as close, anymore, at least not in J.J.'s eyes. How could they be? Sam was his daughter. She had rights here, rights she liked to think she earned. Still, Sam knew that she would have a home here without lifting a finger. Dad must love her, if not for herself, then for the connection she embodied to Mama. He might have abandoned her to Sue, but she was confident that he would not choose some boy he'd just met over her, not even if he didn't much like her.

J.J. must only see what he wanted to see in her relationship with Dad, much like he saw what he assumed in her relationship with Jake. This ranch was her birthright. River Bend was a part of her soul, and J.J. must know that she would never give up her right to it without some kind of nuclear war. J.J. had been comfortable before she was back, but it was clear that she made him uneasy. She was a threat to J.J. He'd tried to silence her in the only way he knew how. He'd tried to control her. He wouldn't.

Really, though, that made a lot of sense to her. If she was a threat to him, well, then, Jake would be doubly so. Jake, he had probably assumed, had been a hand just like him. Then, when Jake had come home, it became increasingly clear that Jake was more like a son to Dad than anything, more a member of the family than an employee. That made Jake a threat to J.J. because J.J.'d had no way of understanding how close Jake and Dad really were, even with this whole mess between them. He'd clearly come to see it though, and was trying to grab for power by threatening Jake.

She could not tell anyone the details of the encounter with J.J. She couldn't. She knew that it would be safest to say something, anything. She just didn't know what to say. The idea of telling Jake was most palatable, but she knew that he would insist on going to Dad. For whatever tension was between them, Jake would not hesitate to call J.J. to the carpet. Dad would no doubt do something. He might be angry about finding out that she had actually not really slept alone in months like this, but he would not stand for her being threatened in her own barn. He just wouldn't.

She did not want Jake to get worked up about the things J.J. had implied about her. She knew she wasn't any of those things, and he knew it, too. His assertions were powerless, because they were meaningless. What he saw as promiscuity, Sam saw as someone's individual choice. She wasn't keen on the idea of having casual sex, no matter what she thought about kissing.

But then kissing Jake wasn't casual, in any sense. It was meaningful and special and powerful, because it was built on their relationship. She guessed that free love could be that for people too, just not for her, at least not right now. Sam had no idea. She just knew that it did not really hurt to hear J.J. call her those names, but it would hurt Jake.

It would hurt him. She remembered once that he and Quinn had reacted badly to someone making comments like about her when she was 14 or 15. She didn't remember what had been said, all she remembered holding ice to Quinn and lecturing Jake. He'd gotten this dark look on his face, this hurt look, as she'd stood there and told him that he had to let that kind of stuff go. Those words could only hurt if she gave them power. He would not react well simply because J.J. worked here. In fact, his proximity might make it worse.

_Oh I'd love to knock the hell out of you_

_And if you keep pushin my button I'm going to_

_So if you're looking for trouble_

_Tell you what you do_

_Come over and get some shit knocked out of you_

_I'd Love To Knock the Hell Out of You_ , Hank Williams, Jr.

Jake was glad to see the ramp in real life, rather than just on his phone screen. He had thought about bringing it up, but was glad that someone had taken the steps to get it done. Sam's texts had included pictures. Jake knew she was happy, though her texts had been nonexistent for the last hour or more. He was heading down the main aisle, when J.J. called out, "Jake, do you have a second?"

Jake stopped, and turned. The other man was approaching him quickly, "I just want to apologize." The barn was slow, this time of night everyone was off getting dinner. Dallas and Pepper had been grilling, and had called him over, where he had seen Pepper staring at J.J. carefully. He hadn't wanted to stay, given that he was hoping Sam wanted to go home for dinner.

"The job was open." Jake said. It wasn't like J.J. had taken his job. Pepper had, and J.J. had filled Pepper's old roles. Still, J.J. looked uneasy, and Jake wondered what was going on.

He really didn't care. He just needed to talk to Sam. He was in a hurry. Frankly, he needed a hug, needed to feel her heat beat, needed to know the things that that complex process told his soul. He needed to breathe and know that she was breathing right there, ready to tell him exactly what she was thinking with no pretext or preamble.

The big chair in the office beckoned. It might be covered with horsehair, but it was big enough to sit for a while."No, man. I didn't realize..." He trailed off. Jake wasn't picking up what he was putting down. He was seconds from turning away, convinced that the guy was overreacting to a job. It was just a job.

But then, J.J. continued, and Jake knew that he wasn't going to be moving from this spot until he was sure she was okay. "About Sam..."

A thousand possibilities raced through his mind. She promised not to push it, and Quinn was dragging him out of the door this morning, so what could have done if she had? In the face of his ignorance, the text messages that had kept him feeling like they were together when they were miles apart seemed empty. What if this guy was apologizing to him because something he'd done had hurt her?

Jake didn't like the direction his mind was taking.

The stalls were wooden. The air was heavy, the fan was clicking in the office. That meant it was on. Someone was in Sam's office. He put those facts together and tried to keep grounded in the face of one of his biggest triggers.

"What?" Jake said, quickly. What about her? The whole thing felt very unspoken, like J.J. was afraid to say a curse word or mention Santa when there was a kid around. They were pretty much alone in the barn. Except Sam. She was there, in her office. He heard her headphones and the click of the fan. Jake's feet started to move that way.

He got half a step away and J.J. followed him. J.J. looked around. "You know, the wheelchair..."

Jake's eyebrow rose. "And...?" What about it?

This was one of the strangest conversations he'd ever had, and Ella had made him have conversations with himself, and with puppets for God's sake.He'd talked to puppets, and they were more talkative. He understood a stuffed bit of fabric better than he understood this guy. He was calmer. He was closer to where he wanted to be by half a step. He could call her name and know that she would be there. Jake breathed, and relaxed. He had done this exercise before. It had seemed silly and torturous then, to be on one side of a door, with Sam on the other side in the waiting room, and talk with Ayers, desensitize himself to increasingly more upsetting triggers and not be allowed to bolt, to learn to trust that he could handle it and that Sam was right there and safe. Now, it was the only thing keeping him here.

J.J. put it out there. "I just want you to know that I never would have assumed the things I did about her had I known of her situation. I guess they were things I assumed about you, too, about why you quit, and I don't know..." He rephrased, "It just seems real foolish to me now. I want to square up with you, and her."

"You assumed that I was fired because Sam and I..." Jake suggested, quickly coming up with a theory. J.J., it seemed, had assumed that he and Sam were in a relationship, and that they had gotten caught together, or something.

That bit was fuzzy in his theory, but he gathered that J.J. thought he'd been fired because he and Sam had gotten together or some such. What idea or assumptions seemed foolish to this guy now because of Sam's injury? What about it changed anything? The whole thing made no sense.

"Well, you know, Wyatt is an honorable, Christian man, and..." J.J. said, quickly adding, "But I was wrong about how she ended up getting hurt." Ah, so there it was, Jake thought. J.J.'s putrid little brain had painted a picture. Sam, in his tiny little mind, had been with him and gotten hurt coming back from some kind of tryst. Jake bet the little ant had spent ages thinking about Sam's body, about the freckles on the side of her torso, about the way her eyes sparkled when she was happy and the way she exhaled breathlessly when sensations overwhelmed her.

Fury built inside of Jake, but he hid it. He wanted to give this J.J. enough rope to hang himself. Then Jake would kick the chair out from his pompous self. "Why were you were wrong?"

"You're taking care of her, man. It isn't like I assumed it was, at all." J.J. confessed. Jake knew just what his assumptions had been.

He found that he liked those assumptions better than these new ones. He would rather people go on assuming what they always had, rather than this new stuff. Who said stuff like this to somebody? Who came up to someone and said that they played some role of caretaker in someone's life, like she was not even a woman, like he was a nursemaid or the Giving Tree?

"Pepper tried to tell me just now, but I didn't believe him. I mean, what kind of people honestly have the relationship you really seem to have? The horses, and even your personal stuff..." Jake barely remained still, "I swore there had to be more given how things went down."

J.J. knew nothing about the accident, and Jake wasn't going to tell him anything. Let him assume what he wanted to assume. "But there isn't anything between us because of her injury? Her injury changed our relationship?" Jake frowned, as though confused. Who was this guy to come up to him and tell him that he knew all about his personal life? Who was he to say what was what?

And just what had Pepper been saying? Pepper was his friend. Pepper was Sam's friend.

J.J. was all too happy to clarify. "So when I what I've been seeing..." He stopped, blushing, "She's not the kind of girl who can be like that, now. You're a decent guy to stick with her now that your relationship is, uhm, over."

Sam was a girl, then? He didn't give her the respect of calling her a woman? Jake knew better than to stand here and listen to this guy call Sam loose in one breath, and then, in the next, say that she was somehow no longer a woman.

He had been provoked with less. Jake tried to put the pieces together. This is why he was apologizing, Jake thought. He was apologizing for even thinking that Sam was wholly a person, wholly an adult woman, never mind that he had assumed some very negative things about that fact, assumed that her supposed choices were mistakes.

Jake remembered that when they had met, Sam hadn't been in the chair. He had obviously seen it, thought about it, and let it shape some of his little theories. He had gone from seeing Sam as a fantastic, empowered, woman who made choices no matter what anyone thought to seeing her as a someone else that needed to be taken care of but never treated as an adult, in the blink of an eye, because of the wheelchair. He was pontificating now because he had never gotten Jake alone.

So that's how it was in J.J.'s mind. Sam was a foolish woman who paid for her mistakes by getting hurt and became infantilized. Jake, though, he was some kind of saint, or so J.J. seemed to be saying.

What a misogynistic double standard. Sam had gotten hurt, and Jake was standing by her. He had chosen her, so now he was stuck with her, because he was some kind of nice guy who made commitments and stuck by them, no matter how much that caused him to suffer. His earlier words came back to bite him in the behind. He had picked her, yes, and he would continue to choose her, place her above all others, but it wasn't some damn sacrifice, not like J.J. was saying.

He picked Sam because he wanted her, wanted nothing more than to see her and know what she was thinking. The things he gave up to have her in his life weren't things he wanted, not really.

He wasn't stuck with her out of guilt, or even responsibility. He stuck beside her because she was the light in his entire world. Who ended up with a friend like Sam and walked away, over something like this, over anything? It wasn't like he was a martyr. It was more than that.

He chose her, not because of what he was, or what she was in his life, but because of what they were together, what she made him feel. He picked her, put her first, because she was his best friend. She was his best friend because Sam understood him, cared about him, saw him for who he was, and believed that he could be the person he wanted most to be, not because they were stuck together, but because she loved him.

She loved him. Sam loved him. Jake's mouth dried, and his heart raced. That was the word. It wasn't family, or unit, or anything like that. Maybe it was. They were a family because she loved him, and because he loved her. He loved her, loved her with every bit of his soul.

That was why they understood each other, believed in each other, saw in each other what on one else would ever see. Their foundation of their bond was a lifetime of being together because they loved each other.

Now that he had thought it once, he couldn't stop thinking it. Nothing seemed so confusing anymore. He loved her, always had, and he didn't have to choose anything, didn't have to sacrifice their friendship for another part of their relationship. He already had chosen her, chosen whatever they did or would one day have...because they loved each other. He had chosen the second he'd thrown his bags in the truck, said "screw it" to everything here and gone to Sam.

He belonged with her because he loved her. There was nothing left over to give some girl like Viola because he'd already given everything he had, already taken everything Sam was willing to give, to build the kind of relationship that excluded anyone who wanted to come between that.

That's why J.J.'s words were so off the wall and wrong. Jake loved her. He loved her, and because he loved her, the things he felt about her body, the indignation he felt about J.J's assertions about her sexuality and her femininity, they were right and holy.

"Been spending a lot of time thinking about our personal life, huh?" Jake mocked, borrowing every bit of Darrell's influence he could. The 'our' was completely intentional, and the other man paled slightly.

J.J. scoffed, and Jake could see where he could come off as a nice guy, you know, if he didn't go around judging other people's sexual ethics, making up theories out of nothing, and then insulting people in their own barn. "Come on, you know what I'm saying."

He didn't want to kick the crap out of J.J., not right now, not when he was feet away from putting the entire universe to rights again. He didn't want his hands to be stained with J.J.'s blood when he brushed the hair back from Sam's eyes. It was a silly fear, but he didn't want the taint of violence anywhere near her. He didn't want to hurt somebody and then turn around and tell her her loved her. There were better ways to show her that. "No." Jake said, simply, "I don't."

J.J. hurried to dig his own grave, saving Jake the work. "It's just, I spoke to her, you know, about you going into her bedroom at night, asked what her father said about it, and she..."

"Is that so?" Jake cut him off, his tone revealing exactly what he thought about that. His theories about J.J.'s ideas shifted to encompass this new bit of information. "And you're bringing it up, why?"

"To apologize, Jake." J.J. insisted, shifting his weight, "I thought all kinds of things about it, but..."

"J.J., do you like your job?" Jake asked, patronizingly. J.J. did not catch the snide note in his tone. Jake wished he had been here when he'd said whatever he'd said to Sam. It would have been so much easier to get him fired.

The young man nodded. Jake guessed he was fresh out of high school. Life hadn't gotten her hands on him yet, and when she did, it was going to be one big mess. No one who went around talking like this and thought they were being nice were anything life looked at with respect.

"Oh. Well." J.J. said, "Any advice on how to do the job, you know, because you did it?" J.J. looked hopeful, like they were friends.

Maybe Jake wasn't any good at intimidating people anymore. Maybe he had gone soft or something. Sam said that he could be very intimidating. He was also very smart, she said, when he wasn't being an idiot, so he decided to do the smart thing. "Yeah. I would think really hard about opening your mouth. Think really hard about what you're saying, and if it doesn't have something to do with the task you were assigned, then you keep your mouth shut, and your head down." Jake finished, and he walked away.

The boy had asked for advice hadn't he?

_How dare you say that my behavior is unacceptable_

_So condescending unnecessarily critical_

_I have the tendency of getting very physical_

_So watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle_

_Harder to Breathe_ , Maroon 5

At the sound of movement behind her, Sam pulled off the headphones, but they got stuck in her hair, so she ended up all tangled when she tried to move away. She saw the look on Jake's face, heard him trying not to laugh, and threw her pen at him, "Don't laugh at me." Sam wasn't in the wheelchair, so she got up and plopped in the old recliner. "You can't sit here now."

"Sorry." Jake replied, even though he wasn't. Sam grinned, and felt a huge weight leave her heart as he smiled back at her.

It wasn't until she felt Jake there with her that Sam realized how unsettled she had been. He shifted slightly as she stood, a rather strange light in his eyes. She saw that same inflection in his gaze all the time, when she stole the last of the M&Ms without telling him, when she cuddled so close to him in the night that he nearly fell of the bed, when she was lucky enough to tell him something he hadn't yet figured out for himself, but never had she seen it so brightly for no reason whatsoever. "Ready to go?"

_I am not an angry girl but it seems like I've got everyone fooled_

_every time I say something they find hard to hear_

_they chalk it up to my anger and never to their own fear._

_And imagine you're a girl just trying to finally come clean_

_knowing full well they'd prefer you were dirty and smiling_

_And I am sorry_

_I am not a maiden fair and I am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere_

_Pretty Girl_ , Ani DeFranco

Sam shut the computer lid, and turned to look around her office. She could hear J.J. working in the barn, having had no idea he was there because of her headphones. She didn't dare say anything now. Sam simply nodded, hoping to get out of the barn for the first time in forever.

Jake shut the door to her office, and followed her down the aisle. Sam was hoping to get by without a word to J.J., but he seemed intent on quizzing Jake on the job, like some brown noser.

Sam knew better. She couldn't very well tell Jake that J.J. was trying to usurp his role here while in front of J.J. She kept trying to shoot him "let's go!" looks as the conversation dragged on like a wounded fly, kicking its legs in the last few moments of life when the fly swatter had just missed ending its life cleanly.

Sam was uneasy. Jake's gaze shifted when he looked at her. It was scorching, unreadable.

Sam did not allow herself to scoot just a tiny bit closer so that Jake could touch her. She did not want J.J. to judge it. It wasn't his business, and he didn't need to see what Jake was doing to her without a single touch to her body.

Her knees nearly knocked together until she realized that Jake was taunting J.J., making snide remarks so subtly that they that had to be clearly obvious. Jake's fingers brushed across her wrist, leaving a trail of fire to spread throughout her body.

She didn't think he realized, so easy was the gesture. It was the same thing they'd done a million and half times. She knew she had to make the fact that they were friends clear.

Sam shifted away, knowing that Jake was subconsciously in her space, knowing that no friend stood this close to each other so easily. Still, she followed the conversation, and when she reached up to smooth back her hair when Jake grinned over at her like they had a shared secret, she dropped her hand to her side quickly, careful to hide the tattoo on her wrist that the action regularly displayed.

J.J. was looking at her as they spoke, judging every inch of the interactions between her and Jake. God, was her body language really that open around Jake? She knew that J.J. was watching. Sam put her foot down then. She wasn't on display for anybody, especially not somebody who was out to get them.

They got in the truck, silence heavy and oppressive around them. Sam looked at Jake. There was fire and laughter in his eyes, "Did you enjoy that?" Her tone was far sharper than usual.

Jake's reaction was quick, far too quick, Sam thought. She narrowed her eyes as he asked, "Enjoy what?" He was trying to throw her off the scent of something. The duplicity annoyed her like none other. Had he been out with Viola? The thought made Sam rage, almost as much as this whole mess with J.J. was doing. 

"Taunting J.J. with tales of the 'job.'" Sam snapped, shutting off George Strait with a sharp twist of the dial. "Are you an idiot? Or are you high? You must know that he was pumping you for information." She shifted tensely against the seat as they drove.

"Yeah?" Jake grinned, "So? Let him have it."

Sam was furious at his easy reply. How could he not care? He was playing right into J.J.'s hand, and he didn't even see it! Sam grew increasingly angry as she tried to control her reply. How dare he act like he was doing it on purpose. Oh, she knew that Jake had been, but if only he saw what J.J. was up to, what he really wanted. If he knew what he was up to, there was no way that conversation would have just taken place.

"Let him have it?" Sam repeated. Jake nodded as he turned onto the dirt road on Ely land that would lead to the house at Three Ponies. "I can't even believe you."

"Why?" Jake asked, quickly. He repeated himself when she did not reply.

There was little she could say, "Sam. I'd like to know what has you biting my head off." His hands were tense on the steering wheel as he parked the truck on the side of the road.

Clearly, they were not moving until they discussed this. They were having a discussion. Damn Ella for her rule that, when having a discussion, the discussion needed to halt all other activity.

Sam knew that she could insist they keep on moving. Instead, she stared out the window at the desert landscape. "You know he wants to replace you." Sam thought it best to leave the whole thing at that. It was a good summation of the entire crappy situation.

"He's not going to, is he?" Jake pressed. Sam looked over at him sharply. He wouldn't, not if she had anything to say about it. She'd sooner burn River Bend to the ground and dance in the flames than hand it over to anyone else.

"Look. I'll talk to Dad." Sam promised, understanding for the first time that maybe River Bend meant as much to Jake as it did to her. Sam thought that that promise settled the matter. She would talk to Dad, and he would call off J.J., somehow.

_Can you lie next to her and give her your heart, your heart, as well as your body?_

_And can you lie next to her, and confess your love, your love, as well as your folly?_

_And can you kneel before the King and say I'm clean, I'm clean?_

_White Blank Page,_  Mumford & Sons

Jake's heart, possessive and raw, was pounding as he shifted to look at Sam. The unease in her eyes was staggering. Her words didn't make any sense. "What's your father have to do with the fact that that..."

Jake did not supply the word he was really thinking, not one out of the thousands that entered his mind as he'd stood in the barn and realized that J.J. was interested in Sam, in his own little creepy way. That's what the whole conversation they'd had had come down.

J.J. was surveying his prospects, assured that the whole thing was wide open for him to make a move or something.

Jake had seen him watching Sam, as he'd cornered them under the pretext of asking more job related questions. Jake hadn't wanted to tell him to get lost before they found his body in bits and pieces across the state in front of Sam until he explained the conversation he and J.J. had had shortly before.

A feeling of dread ripped through him. Was she interested in J.J.? She was not fickle or whatever, but she had the right to find people interesting. He didn't know if J.J. was good looking, though he had a lot of people fooled. Jake dropped the sentence and asked a question, "You know he's interested in you, right?"

She laughed at him, again. Why did she always laugh at serious moments? There was a tense note in her laughter, as wide as the seat separating them. "You're insane." She looked back at him quickly, "I would never..."

Jake got the idea that the conversation Sam had had with J.J. had not been about assuring him that she was single. "What happened when he spoke to you?" Sam was silent as she shook her head, and awkwardly navigated her seatbelt to take it off. Jake met her halfway, and wished he could smooth out the tension in her muscles when she settled over him, her knees settling around his hips as she sat across his lap, her wide skirts fanning around her. "Sam."

She looked him directly in the eye. "He wants your job, you know." Sam replied, passion and fervor entering her voice as she explained what she was thinking more fully, "He wants to be what you are to Dad. He wants River Bend, wants to play King of the Range on my ranch. He's not going to get it. He's not going to be buddy buddy with Dad, and he's not going to discredit you to do it. That's why I am so angry at you. He was trying to get information to use it to make you look bad."

Jake exhaled. That was it. That's what she was so upset about? The ranch. Right. This he could respond to rationally.

People said he was possessive, but they had never met Sam, felt the all encompassing way in which she gave of herself to the people and the things she believed to be hers. He wanted her to know that he was hers, wanted her never to doubt that, wanted to rest securely in that regard. 

"That's just foolishness, Sam. He's barely worked there a few months." He could never replace anybody, not him, and her, if that was the root of the problem. They were secure. She was secure. J.J.'s job was no threat to her.

Jake reached up and ran a hand through Sam's choppy waves, framing her face with his hand as he let her hair fall through his fingers like fire shot silk.

"And yet!" Sam cried, shifting her hips so slightly that he didn't even think she realized it. He did, though, and it nearly derailed his train of thought as her knees dug into him. How they always ended up sitting like this was an utter mystery to him, but it was one he didn't feel the need to solve. Like this, Sam was all around him, and Jake watched, transfixed, as she leaned into his touch. 

Sam breathed out, "And yet, he's all up in our business like he owns the place."

 _Pull over on the side of the road_  
Oh my God, you're something  
Like nothing I've ever seen  
If I'm asleep girl, let me dream  
  
It should just happen like this  
Trust it so much that there's no one else but us and this moment that says it's so right  
'Cause that's all we have in this life

 _Summer honeysuckle_  
Leaking through a rolled down window  
We both know when that seat lays back  
Anything can happen  
So imagine it'll never end  
Just close your eyes and you can see that we are where we're meant to be

_Give it All We Got Tonight, George Strait_

_  
_His heart was racing but he knew they had to focus. The touch was reassuring and comforting even as her proximity was enthralling. How completely he loved her, Jake realized.

She loved him too, he could feel it, even as he longed to hear her say it. He knew that he had to share his thoughts, as coherently as possible, ones that scared him.

Thoughts, thoughts of J.J. robbing him of her joy and her affection. J.J. would never love her, never know in his soul that he existed solely to live life by her side, worship her mind and cherish her heart. Jake swallowed. "What business? He...asked me about us, Sam. I think he's interested in you, and I think he's trying to use the ranch to show off what he knows to impress you."

"Nope." Sam said confidently. Sam's whole body lit with a smile as she knocked his hat off, pushing it over the seat into the back. "He's operating under the impression that you and I are having a very passionate affair under Dad's nose."

The words on her lips sent some very pleasant images into Jake's mind, ones he would have enjoyed telling her about. He wanted to telol her about every thought he'd ever had about her over the years, every fantasy he'd ever had, starting with the simple ones that had flooded his mind some years back, and work their way up from there, moving slowly enough so that they could learn every possible thing there was to learn.

Sam added, "He also thinks I'm ill, or something. I've no idea."

Jake's mouth was open to tell her what J.J. had said to him, when his breath was stolen.

Her mouth dropped to his ear, and her teeth nipped the shell of his ear, gently, like she wanted to know what he tasted like. It was literally the boldest thing she'd ever done to him. There was no pain in the tiny nip, just the scrape of her teeth that was over almost before he had begun. The initiative she had taken made him incredibly interested, incredibly turned on. 

Jake pulled her closer, let every inch of her body press against him, from the tiny tie on her dress to the softness of her stomach underneath her dress. "Bet you he thinks the chair's a turnoff. I don't care, really, so long as he doesn't corner me in my office again."

The chair was immaterial. A tool, one that gave her the rough patches on her fingers that were slowly pushing up his shirt over his body in ways that caused his muscles to contract involuntarily, almost as though they could feel her hands before they got there. Her whisper sent fire rushing through his blood until he processed the words.

Jake's hands froze as they ran over her body. What had previously been comforting and soothing and companionable shifted to something raw and emotionally laden. "He cornered you? How?"

He'd needed one reason to throw the kid out onto the skids, and now he had it. He did not like thinking of Sam vulnerable to that boy. She was, though, physically, if not mentally or emotionally. She was incredibly strong, but her body was slight and called to him in some deeply primal way to protect her, keep her safe, even though he knew she didn't really need him to do it. She had a good head on her shoulders, but he hated that he hadn't been there. The slightness of her body as it pressed down into him made him feel incredibly blessed by her. The idea that someone could see her differences as weakness to be exploited made him angry.

Sam made a humming sound against him that sent a mutual shiver through them, one that started deep within him. She breathed deeply for a few seconds, and said, "Like I said, he's really into moral, uhm, purity."

Jake figured she'd made her intentions pretty clear. He stopped trying to hide from her and slid outward on the seat a bit, taking them both with him. Sam dug her hands into the top of the seat as her weight rested upon him more fully, and Jake wished they were back on him as she arched her back, pressing every inch of her body against him.

The space he had created caused Sam to arch upward, and Jake caught the smile on her face as she pushed herself up, held herself just out of reach long enough that her knees started to wobble, and she put her hands back on his shoulders, and sank down again. The next time she arched up, she pulled his shirt up, and slid her hands down over his side, brushing her hands against the tattoo, that yes, he'd put there for her eyes only. 

Jake fought the urge to groan, as whatever this was ratcheted up about a thousand degrees as they got lost in sensation. His hands fell to her skirts, cupping her bottom to hold her tightly, to help her know that she was secure against him. Her space was defined. Jake knew that she liked knowing where her limbs were, liked having a secure space,liked, he hoped, knowing that it was him who gave her those things. 

Sam saw it, of course, because she could read his every expression. He had to focus. She was saying something about being cornered in her office. That was bad, very bad, because it hadn't been him there, locking them in the office, and using that ugly recliner for the very reason God, in His infinite wisdom, had created the thing. God, he wished they were there, just like this, now, in that ugly recliner. He had every intention of locking that door, and spreading a blanket down over that chair, and being on top that time, and maybe the time after that, yeah, and...

"Talk to me." Jake insisted. He wanted Sam to tell him exactly what she wanted, wanted to hear her say the words.

He wanted to know that the small exhalations she was making as he ran his fingers over the back of her knees felt as good as he prayed it must. In this, at least, he was thankful that he knew so much about her body, so much that could be applied in new ways.

He wanted to know every feeling that was reflected in the eyes that were fastened to his, wanted her words. He removed his hand from just under the hem of her skirt and let it fall again, the yellow fabric contrasting his fingers. "Tell me." Tell me you love me, he prayed, tell me.

Sam's eyes were as glazed as he felt. She was soft and warm. She frowned as Jake fisted his fingers in the hem of her dress to keep from running his hands up her legs. Touching her knees had been enough, because he could feel the pleasure she derived from it, but now that he'd stopped, he wondered how it was enough for the both of them.

Sam swallowed, "So he thought he could show me the error of my, uhm, fornicating, Jezebel-ing ways, because, you know, girls like me..." Her breath hitched as she broke off.

Jake thought that maybe her reaction had something to do with him pulling the skirt of her dress away from her body. He loved this dress, loved it, was officially obsessed with the woman who wore it.

She inhaled intently as Jake pushed the thin strap of her dress off of her shoulder, running his thumb down over the side of her shoulder. Her bra strap was a dark navy, Jake thought, but he wasn't sure because the second Sam realized he'd stopped touching her, she pulled it down, tugged it away. Jake's eyes were blown out when he realized that she'd taken the top of her dress with it. "So beautiful. God, Sam, you're..."

She was smaller than she had been, before she lost all of the weight, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except the expression on her face as he tentatively reached up to smooth away the red mark from the strap, and down, over the swell of her breasts, and back up. 

Jake wasn't quite sure what to do, but her breathless sigh, the almost automatic response of her body told him enough. She seemed to be beyond speech. He just wanted to know every inch of her, feel every bit of her texture, even as it slowly changed under his touch. "Good?"

"Idiot." Sam breathed, letting her weight fall forward into his hand. She was so soft. Jake valiantly tried to suppress the smug grin he knew was blooming as his uncertainty left him, at least a little bit. 

"Yeah." Jake forced out as Sam's head fell forward onto his shoulder, trapping his hand between them as her chest pressed tightly against his beating heart. Jake put his hand on her back, just to make sure she wasn't in pain, wasn't too tense, and let it drift over her back, from underneath her dress. 

She'd said yellow wasn't her color, but the thing was gold, he'd realized, as golden as the flecks in her skin. He loved seeing it hang in his closet, knowing that it had been there with his clothes before she'd put it on her body. He especially loved it now, wrinkled and rumpled, moulded to her body.

Sam tensed, a hot flush spreading over her body. Jake ran his hands up the back of her her thighs, felt her skin pebble, hoping to help her find equilibrium that he was rapidly losing.

The action made her entire body tremble, her legs nearly catching his hands as they came together reflexively, the heat and dampness making his head spin. Her skin was so soft, so delicate, the outer shell of her hip was as hard as the inside of her thigh was soft under his work roughened fingers.

"Jake..." She seemed to be fighting with her brain and her lungs to find the words and force them out of her body as her chest heaved between them. Her words lost much of their coherence, as did his thoughts.

Jake nodded, hating the barrier of the sensible cotton that did little to dissuade them as Jake played with the elastic, not really having a goal, just trying to feel and understand every bit of her that he could.

Sam continued, her voice barely above a whisper as she complied with what he'd asked to her do. "It was a threat...not even about me. He wants to discredit you to Dad."Weak, so the only thing he could find to criticize was assumptions he's made." Sam seemed to rejoice as the last of the words left her mouth, "He's been spying on the bedroom window..."

That was like a bucket of ice upon him. Two things hit Jake at once. His mind sobered almost painfully as he realized how exposed they could be now.

Their ragged breathing filled the cab of the truck. That boy, that idiot, would never see them together again, not in the quiet moments of the night when Sam's awful nightgowns twisted around his legs, when she got cookie crumbs in the bed, and he could be bothered by the crumbs because he was so happy to see her eating again that he would have broken them up himself if it made her happy. No one else would ever see this between them.

Sam seemed to know what he was thinking. She smiled softly, a shot of tenderness in a a moment that was spiraling like wildfire around them. Her slick skin was hot against his jeans, then, and not the dress. Jake's own breathing nearly stopped as his face filled with whatever blood his body had left. He was amazed there was enough in his veins to make him blush.

Sam answered the question he didn't have the ability to voice aloud with a tilt of her head. She had nearly, very nearly, orgasmed in his arms. He had misread her tension, and should have pressed on ahead instead of backing up, slowing down. The realization sent a ribbon of shock and awareness through him. He didn't know why he found their location shocking now, when seconds ago, she had been the most arousing thing in the world, made him think. 

She still was, but they deserved more than this, more than a something borne out of his love for her. She deserved consider and respect, even if it made him an ass. He should really ask her what she thought they should do, but the whole thing was crumbling around him, and he didn't understand why. Maybe he was scared. She hadn't had time to think about this. 

Jake studied Sam's eyes carefully as the world came into view around them. They were passionate and trusting and yearning. Jake realized that the cool air in the cab was freezing his lungs as he breathed.

They came falling back away from the edge, painfully, receding from the precipice of wherever they'd been with the realization that they were still in the truck. Not like this, Jake decided, and tried his damnedest to pull himself together, as Sam shook her head and shifted away. "It's very bad form to stop now." She stuttered out. The words were understanding. 

She wasn't what J.J. said she was. Not her, not ever, not when she had so willingly opened her soul completely to him, with trust, and confidence, and knowingness. The words he'd used stung. J.J. would never see her like this. She wasn't all of those awful names, no matter what they'd nearly done. In fact, what they'd nearly done had proved J.J. wrong on so many levels. J.J.'s assertions about her injury were wrong. They just were.

Jake didn't know why anyone would assume that she was somehow less of a person, less deserving of love and affection and joy and passion because of one change in her life. The fact that she was suddenly not a person in J.J.'s mind, in this very basic way made no sense. Apparently, there was something wrong with them both. Apparently, Jake had to see past her injuries to feel as he did about her, and the whole thing just ticked him off.

Still, he knew that he needed to stop. He couldn't go farther than this, not now. He hoped she would understand, and if she didn't they would talk, but he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to finish this, wanted her.

Jake hissed into her shoulder as he tried to breathe. Sam was shaking, trembling, frustration and loss clear on her face, "Sorry." He apologized, "Sorry. Can't." They couldn't do this now, they both knew it. 

J.J. should not enter into the decisions they made or the actions they took. Proving somebody wrong, no matter how much they loved each other, was not a reason to have sex in the truck. 

Furthermore, he didn't want to hurt her. Ayers had made certain things clear in the process of his sessions, and so had his comprehensive sex education in the church. Sam had been in those same classes. She knew they had to think, define some things, come up with some understanding between them first. Mostly, he just wanted her to know that he loved her, first. But it wasn't something he wanted to blurt out like that. 

Jake could feel Sam's agreement as she nodded. He couldn't even think, couldn't even breathe. He'd been so close. She'd been close, too. He had no idea how he'd held off. Jake realized that he probably hadn't had as much resolve as he'd hoped. "Jesus."

Sam's teeth grazed his shoulder as she flopped onto her side of the seat. Jake looked up, hoping she hadn't hurt herself in the movement. How she could even move made him blink. He couldn't feel anything but the pulsing of blood.

 She caught the look on his face, "You have to let words like them go, Jake. They're social constructs that don't matter. I wish you wouldn't let it hurt you so badly."

How could she even summon up the resolve to speak? Her noticed that every inch of her skin was flushed. "I'm not doing you in the truck. Not the first time." 

Sam pulled her dress back up, and didn't even bother with her bra. It probably was near his hat. "Virginity is a social construct." Sam returned. "You're not going to hurt me, Jake." 

Jake blew out a breath. "Five minutes and then we'll go home."

"I'll move when my mind doesn't feel like mush...and my body doesn't feel like a..." Sam sighed, her hands lying limply at her side as she slumped in the seat, "I don't even know. All the words I can think up are ones you won't want to hear." She shot him a glance, "I'm just going to sit here and think about throwing myself in the La Charla."

Jake understood. He was trying to think about somebody ugly in a dress, much as forcing the imagery hurt, mentally and physically. Unfortunately for him, any negative image he called up faded almost instantly, leaving the image of a yellow dress pulsating in his brain in time with Sam's slowly calming breathing.

_When I light the fuse I gotta get back quick_

_You gotta be careful with a dynamite stick_

_Son of a gun she's fun to handle and she packs a punch like a roman candle_

_She's a pack of black cats in a red paper wrapper_

_My little darlin' is a firecracker_

_Firecracker_ , Josh Turner

Sam made one rule for herself as she cranked up the cold water again. She was not going to think about anything that had happened in the truck, or anything that had almost happened, or what did actually happen.

She was going to let go, and let the universe ordain what it might. Analyzing this did no one any good, not when all they really wanted was to feel. She was going to chill, she was going to be as chill as the cold water rushing over her body.

Dinner was delayed because Luke had asked for it to be, though why she did not know, or care. Sometimes, no one ate until very late because they were all in the barn. Sam was just glad she could get a shower without anyone asking questions about her flushed face or her rumpled dress.

Sam soaped her hair, and found herself thinking as she adjusted to the cool water. Halfway through wondering why Jake would find her physical responses so startling, she forced herself to stop thinking. Sam quickly showered and made her way carefully down the stairs. They weren't waiting on her yet, thank goodness. She helped Quinn to set the table, and he grinned, "Guess it really is warm out today. Jake went up to take a shower himself."

He was completely unaware that Sam's hands trembled as she set out forks. "Right." Sam replied, "I guess we have to wait for him." Sam helped to set out the glasses, and put ice in them, not allowing herself to think about that same ice against her skin. She needed to get her head on straight.

Quinn replied, "He'll come soon." 

Sam bit her lip, not looking up. God, she had a gutter-mind, but if only he had. There would be no going back from that. 

He came down not ten seconds after that, and carried the roast chicken in from the kitchen, Max following in quickly with two big bowls of vegetables. Luke carried in the potatoes, and they all sat down to eat.

Jake put a hand on her elbow as she shifted over on the bench to make him room, though once seated, he kept his hands off of her knees. Sam thanked God in her heart for that one inaction.

Sam searched her mind and her heart for unease, or awkwardness, remorse, or regret. She could only find regret that he still hadn't kissed her. How he could make her feel as she had felt and not even kiss her, not once, was mystifying and did not bode well for her control. The idea of him kissing her, or of her kissing him, as seemed more likely given that she had instigated both encounters, felt right, inevitable.

She did not feel one hint of shame or regret, and if J.J. wanted to label her as a jezebel or a freak for it, that was fine with her, so long as it was Jake that was right there with her, stealing moments with her, breathing harshly in her ear, even as they were both unsure as to what they were really doing.

Jake got her attention with a small touch to her wrist. He was going to tell Max, then, about medical school. She nodded in agreement, they had this. His expression said that he was worried about a blow-up, and Sam frowned in mock frustration. He understood that this just had to be done. Sam took another spoonful of mashed potatoes, and proceeded to pretend to be intent upon them as Jake spoke, "Mom, I've been thinking about graduate school."

Max set down her glass. "That's wonderful, Jake." Sam loved Max but she hated her tone. She acted like Jake was throwing away his life through doing online classes. It was good enough for her, but not for Jake, and the disparity rankled. Jake would never abandon his dreams. Granted, they might change, but he'd never give up. The idea that Max acted like he needed so much encouragement bothered Sam, sometimes. Now was one of those occasions. Max said, happily, "I hear Reno has a good Criminal Justice M.A."

Sam just bet she had heard all about Reno, because Max loved UNR. Sam was hopeful that Jake would use this chance to break it to his mother that he just might go to Reno, but for another reason. Sam realized that she must have conveyed the idea to him in her expression, as Jake looked away from her, and said, "The medical school is there, too, Mom."

His voice was soft, and had Max looking at Luke quickly. Luke confirmed his wife's silent question, asking, "This is what you want, Jake?"

Jake nodded. Sam knew that he especially loved his mother. Who wouldn't love Max? Sam was silent, and watched as Max processed this information quickly, "What does this mean for your education now, Jake?" Max latched onto an idea, one that she was still clinging to, no matter what Jake said to indicate otherwise, "You'll go back in the Spring, then, as it's too late to go back now."

Sam hadn't thought of that. She hadn't even allowed herself to consider it. She tried to gather up the nerve to ask him to clarify. Jake did without her asking, an calmly firm denial crossing his lips, "No. I can do more here. The school has lab agreements all over the state. The closest one is barely a half-hour from here."

Sam hadn't known that he'd found a lab space. Maybe he'd done that this morning, she didn't know, but she knew she was going to have to wait for the details. Jake seemed to be running out of steam. Sam was glad to be next to him as he was able to say softly, "Shadowing?"

Quinn shot her a grateful look, and Sam realized that he was also searching for a way to fill the silence. Jake started, becoming excited, "Right. So I've got a shadowing set up with Dr. Haskins to start Monday, and I..."

Max looked flabbergasted and Sam knew that she had done the wrong thing, "You've begun to lay the foundation, then? I..." she paused, "Of course you don't need my help."

There was anger and hurt in Max's tone. Jake looked at Sam for help, which she provided, "He doesn't want you to be hurt. He's thought a lot about this, you know."

"I'm the last to know." Max surmised, looking at her sons, her husband, at at Sam. "Did anyone tell you, Jacob, that this dream, this goal of yours, is going to change everything about your life? Did anyone mention that medical school isn't some lark?" She wasn't trying to hurt Jake, Sam realized, only make him see all of the outcomes. Any mother might do this, though Sam realized slowly that they'd already had these conversations between them, "I know why your father has encouraged this, but I'd like to know why you have, Sam."

Sam blinked back at her. There was no anger in Max's question. It was honest, and so Sam gave her the most honest answer she could, "Because he wants it, Max, and he believes in it, and he's got a right to pursue this because of what it means to him today, no matter what it might mean tomorrow."

Max stared at her, unblinking. Sam felt like this woman, the woman who had stepped alongside Gram to raise her, could see deep into the marrow of her bones, see the fact that she loved and trusted Jake without question even in those deepest and darkest places. "And I suppose that if he goes, you will, too."

"When he does." Sam corrected Max gently. If he wanted this, nothing would stop him, nothing. She did not need to finish the reply. That other fact should be clearly obvious. Why was that even a question?

Sam knew the conversation wasn't over, but at least everything was out in the open. Sam sipped her water and realized that there was a lot to think about, chief among them, the gentle, united, comforting, thoughts that were filling her mind when Jake took her hand. He passed the potatoes, and Sam nearly dropped the spoon when the prayer, "God, I love him so much." ran through her mind as though she had thought it a million and half times.

It was only later that she realized that, in fact, she had been thinking that very same thing for as long as she could remember.

_What if it's you?_

_What if our hearts were meant to be one?_

_What'll I do,_

_Knowing that I'll never love anyone as much as I do love you?_

_What if it's true?_

_What if it's you?_

_What if it's You,_ Reba McEntire

After dinner, Jake and Quinn started kibitzing like old women. Quinn asserted after a tense and awkward clean up that he was going to go fix a gate. Sam looked at Jake, wondering why that required his input. Her shrugged and picked up a book. She slid on her clogs and wandered to the swing, Gal weaving in and out of her feet. In the last hour, it had become increasingly clear that she loved Jake, though she had no idea when the thought had come to her now that it was there.

She loved him, loved him, loved him. There was no blinding moment for her, no moment when she looked at him and realized that he occupied a space in her soul that was only defined by love.

It was love, and the complicated kind. It was not simple puppy love. She realized they'd outgrown that at five. What they had, though, was amazing. It was the kind of love people prayed for, but never asked what they might get when they found it. She knew without a doubt that he was the most frustrating, annoying, noble, complicated, taciturn, man she had ever known. It was the kind of love based on a bone deep understanding of each other, and what she would do to keep him in her life. She also knew that she would let him walk away, would push him out the door if she knew it to best for him.

God, she prayed as she fumbled to find the swing with her behind, what was she going to do? She knew now, all too clearly, why her body was attune to Jake, why his embrace provided a space for her to be wholly herself.

Gal begged for attention. Sam provided it, feeling the dog's corse hair on her fingers. She loved Jake Ely. It wasn't so simple as all that, though. She still didn't know if she wanted a relationship, and she was terrified that if he knew that she loved him, he would drift away, somehow, become removed from her. She could never bear losing her best friend, not for anything, not even for a different future.

The books all said that love went a certain way, but maybe those books were bull. Maybe they could do their own thing, find their way through love as they had through friendship. Sam had never had a crush on Jake, and yet, he made her crazy with desire with one brush of his fingertips. She had never worried if he liked her, never agonized if he thought she was pretty. That would be crazy.

She had never idealized him as a man. It was hard to idealize Jake when she knew him, knew that he snored and left socks on the floor, and was so moral that he saw his role in the world as one of service. It was a hard to idealize a man she loved. It seemed totally at odds with what love really was, knowledge and care and respect and unity in imperfection and strength. It was in knowing him, in respecting him, in seeing him as someone who deserved everything he worked for, no matter if it would mean leaving, that she knew she loved him.

Their love would never be storybook. They would never have the silly story of falling in love. Sam figured she'd been in love with him her entire life in one way or another. A request that had started as a quest to help her feel physical sensations had, in effect, forced her to confront her emotions. Being wrapped up in his arms this afternoon, on the brink of forever, had taught her something about herself.

She would never have felt half the physical things she felt with Jake if she did not trust him, want to know him in every way, care about him in a way that was both internal and selfish and external and giving. All of those things, to her, were love. It was as simple and as complex as all of that. She would never have been in those moments as she had been if she did not love him. Thoughts of forever would not have been swirling in her brain if it was nothing more than a quick fumble.

Their contact, if she thought about it logically, wasn't really about their sex drives. She wasn't stupid, knew exactly what various things meant and wasn't foolish or prudish enough to deny her obvious want or even his, but she knew, that for them, a lot of the contact was about touching, knowing each other, rather than the end goal of sex.

Jake focused on areas in her body that he knew well, the back of her knees, the sensitive slope of her shoulders, her legs, her arms, the tiny smattering of freckles that he seemed to lavish with attention. It was all about sensation, and Sam couldn't bring herself to compare it, to wonder if it might be different before the accident. In this, it didn't matter, because she wouldn't trade what this was, not for anything. It didn't matter that her brain and her body were messed up, because that messed up brain and body were creating her end of whatever was developing between them.

Sam thought back to her frustrations that her sensations had changed because her mind had changed. That was true. She had changed, her heart and her mind and her soul, had changed. Without the interpretation of information to color facts, Jake's touch could theoretically feel like J.J.'s might.

She had to embrace her subjectivity, and use it to create space for herself in this new world. The first step, Sam realized, was being honest about the biases she would never be able to change. Loving Jake was one of those things. She could never unknown it, could never shake it, now that she saw it for what it was. Sam leaned against the rope, felt the rope abrade her fingers. She closed her eyes and thought and felt, resting her weight against the swing and the tree's veiny bark.

Her eyes snapped open as Jake's hand came down on her shoulder gently, "You shouldn't sleep out here." He asserted. Sam looked around, noting that the dog had trotted off and it was now pitch black. Her body was aching from leaning on the swing, her side pulsating like a bleeding wound. Sam tried not to remember how soft and gentle Jake's fingers had been on that part of her body this afternoon when he'd lavished attention upon her. Jake sat down next to her.

Sam leaned against him, and asserted, "Not sleeping." She yawned. "I'm just thinking."

Jake's hand splayed over her back, "About what?" The crickets and the bugs were loud around them, and Sam knew that this moment would never come again. The moon was hidden, allowing starlight to shine through, illuminating their world in colors of the night as the sun set.

She threw caution to the breeze, released her words to the wind. The universe might ordain things, but God had given her a heart, and a mind, and a soul, and it was on her to make sure that she used them."Basic facts of the universe, you know, like how the stars are beautiful, and how you're an idiot."

Those things would never change. Jake laughed, a soft chuckling sound that made her heart glad. He didn't disagree, "Why am I an idiot this time?"

Sam's smile was wide. She looked at Jake, and released it all to the universe, gave her hopes to God as she placed her trust in Jake's hands. "Because even though I tell you all the time, you need the words to hear me saying that I love you."

Their breath filled the silence between them. Sam felt her blood rush in her ears as she felt like she had thrown herself over into nothingness, with no safety net.

Jake's slow reply was confident, self-assured. "You're wrong."

"I am not!" Sam cried, "Here I am, telling you I love you, and you say I'm wrong?" Oh, she was going to kill him just as soon as she figured out the best way to get his dead body into the desert. What was going on here? Was he denying her emotions, even though they had been plainly evident for decades, because he didn't care as she did? "What is your problem?"

"I love you, too." Jake replied, lacing his fingers through hers. "And I've known how you feel forever. You say it all the time."

Sam grinned, as she put her head back on his shoulder. "Liar." The kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within her would never be translatable into words. She would never forget this feeling, this feeling of knowing that they were still side by side in their friendship, just like they had always been in periods of growth and change. The accident had proved that, as had this moment.

"Maybe." Jake agreed, not at all put off by her assertion. "But you'll never hear me say anything else." Sam shrugged. It didn't matter what he told people. They knew the truth, and that was all that mattered. It would behoove them, she thought, to keep just how strange they were to themselves.

The truth had come out, and the world was still spinning. They were still them, still friends. They were friends who had acknowledged that they loved each other. Surely that was better than dating, anyway, and if they were themselves, then they didn't have to fit some standard role. If they had always loved each other, then nothing needed to change.

"Sam." Jake said, slowly. She thought that he was going to, finally, finally, kiss her. His other hand went to the rope handle behind her, above her head. She leaned in, feeling her heart race as his mouth came close to her ear. She prayed that he was going to start slowly, make this moment last forever. The first time only happened once. She wanted it to be once and forever.

Sam inhaled, feeling her body expand with light and expectation and passion. Sam let her hands fall into his shirt, and Jake smiled devilishly, "Don't you find this whole thing to be rather anti-climactic?"

The double entendre hit home, and quickly, Sam put her palms flat into his chest and shoved with all of her might. She resisted the urge to kick dirt in his face as he started to laugh as he hit the ground because the swing went flying as she stood quickly. Sam let out a spluttering noise of frustration, and said exactly what she was thinking, "Go try that line on Viola, you ass! Oh, I cannot believe you!"

"You should see the look on your face!" Jake called out as she headed to the house. She didn't turn around, because if she did, he would see that she was laughing, too. It wouldn't do to let him see this. She knew that it wouldn't hurt him to let him stew in it. "Aw, Brat, come back!"

She peeked over her shoulder, saw him standing there hat in hand, laughter dancing in the lines of his body in the starlight. Sam smiled and kept walking. Yeah, this would be fine, she decided, because they were still them.

_Well I've been searching for something true_

_My heart says it must be you_

_And I don't wanna look back on these days_

_Knowing all the things you'd never know if I never said a word and let you go_

_I don't wanna steal you away or make you change the things that you believe_

_I just wanna drink from the words you say_

_Only if you Told me to_ , Hunter Hayes


	22. Bravado

_The greatest man I never knew lived just down the hall,_

_and ev'ry day we said hello but never touched at all._

_He was in his paper. I was in my room._

_How was I to know he thought I hung the moon?_

_The greatest man I never knew came home late ev'ry night,_

_He never had to much to say. Too much was on his mind._

_I never really knew him, oh and now it seems so sad._

_Ev'rything he gave to us took all he had._

_He never said he loved me_

_Guess he thought I knew._

_The Greatest Man I Never Knew_ , Reba McEntire

Wednesday morning was far too chilly for Sam's comfort. Why was it that in the spring, these temperatures were warm, but towards the end of summer, they were a shock to the system? Sam wiggled her feet in her socks, and began to do her science work. Sam really liked the virtual class.

Today, she had to watch a few videos, one a recorded lecture that featured slides and her teacher's voice, and another that she thought maybe would be an episode of NOVA, read a chapter, and begin working on a small project designed to test her learning. The teacher would provide feedback via a commenting system, because none of this was anything she could google, not that she had tried.

Sam decided that she needed a desk calendar to make a daily list for each class or something. Using a notebook was messy. She had just pushed play on the NOVA video and begun to leaf through the chapter again, when there was a knock on her doorjamb. "Hey, Sammy."

Dad's frame shifted uneasily as he sat down in the chair. Sam pulled off her headphones, glad that they did not get stuck in the clip in her hair. The clip bothered her, but she was trying to desensitize herself to it, with little success. "What's up?"

"Do you want me to fire J.J.?" Dad's words were as blunt as ever, though there was no sharpness to them. Sam fingers paused on top of her textbook. Dad's fingernails had dirt under them, more than usual. It seemed clear that he'd come directly here after finishing whatever he'd been doing, as his gloves were stuck in his pocket.

Sam paused, "You can't fire somebody for making assumptions, Dad." Sam shook her head, realizing that she had to make her thoughts plainly known because she wasn't about to ask him to delve deeply into what he knew.

"No, I don't." Why was he asking her? Sam wondered what he knew, why Jake had gone to him. He hadn't said he wasn't going to, but he hadn't said he was going to do so, either.

"If he makes you feel unsafe..." Dad began, "Then he goes, and that's the end of it." Sam frowned internally, even as she understood the intent behind her father's position. She wanted to know what her Dad knew. It seemed hugely important that they define their terms.

"He doesn't." Sam sighed, "It was...just..." It had been completely awkward, especially now that J.J. was trying to be her friend. He kept trying to make conversation, but Sam had no idea what to say. It was like they spoke two different languages, wherein the words had completely different meaning and their contexts were so different that no one could figure them out. It was English, but it did not compute to either of them, not that they really spoke all that much. "What did Jake say?"

"Pepper said that J.J. was making trouble for you." Dad took his hat off his head and looked back at her, correcting what she thought he knew and explaining how he knew what he knew. "I didn't even think about something like that, you know? You're just a girl, Sammy, and then to have boys sniffing around... It's almost more than I know how to handle." Dad ran a hand through his buzzed hair, and then plopped his hat on his head.

"I'd say you're doing alright." Sam smiled, knowing that one area where they didn't really have problems had always been his trust in her ability to navigate the world, even if that was changing. He trusted her to make her own choices, believed that she was responsible, and was here, asking her, rather than flying off the handle. "It's fine."

Dad was uncertain and Sam knew that he wanted to can J.J., but then continued, "Sam, I'm proud of you. You don't owe him any explanations." He continued, quickly, "I would like to know, though, if there are any major changes in, ah, whatever you've got going on."

"Dad..." Sam tried to order her words, a heated blush stealing over her face. She wanted him to know that she was okay, that she wasn't stupid, but she wanted to maintain boundaries that had always worked for her and Dad. "I lived with Matrona, you know."

Dad looked confused, and Sam realized that there was so much about her that he did not know, would never know unless she told him, "Please don't tell anyone, but she really struggled with hypersexuality after her injury."

Dad looked a bit shocked, honestly. Sam did not know what to make of his reaction, given that it was so much like the reactions of the average person.

Sam forgot that most people were not like her, did not understand these concepts as a matter of course, even Dad, because he had not lived it, in his own way. He probably assumed that Matrona had turned their room into an orgy or something. She never had, had never directed her compulsions at Sam. Sam did not add that she had struggled with the completely opposite issue for a very long time, because telling her father that little fact would be almost as awkward as telling him that that problem was a thing of the past. Ella was probably overjoyed, or would secretly be, if she knew that much.

"It was a frequent topic of discussion in therapy. I promise not to do anything without thinking about it first." Both conditions were treated with extensive education and discussion. She knew more than the average person, even if she wasn't doing anything with that information. Well, she thought, anything much. 

Dad nodded, accepting her words, "It's kind of you to want to keep J.J. around, but I want your word that you won't let this go, again. Pepper said the questions he was asking about you were things he had no business considering." Dad's tone was firm, and Sam wondered what had gone on behind her back.

Being the object of discussion like this was embarrassing and she did not care to know any more so long as this whole thing could be set aside, "This is his workplace, but it's your home."

Sam doubted how much he really meant those words, but the sentiment warmed her soul. 

Having said what he came to say, Dad took her silence as agreement, and gruffly said, "Now, show me this school website thing." Sam spun the chair around and logged back into the computer, and began to show him around, using her best tour guide Barbie voice.

_He ain't got a clue what he's going through_

_But he's going to - just give him time_

_'Cause his life is about to change_

_He's never gonna be the same_

_He'll be living in a different world_

_When boy meets girl_

_When Boy Meets Girl,_  Terri Clark

"I don't like shots." The girl declared. Her mother sighed, and looked between her and Dr. Haskins with the expression of a beleaguered mother. "I won't do it." Her hair was up in glittery barrettes, ones that conveyed sweetness but also complimented a bubbly personality.

She had talked about her barrettes non-stop in the waiting room. Avery was a small chatterbox who was keenly sharp and observant.

The room in the building across from Dr. Haskins' house was large, but not large enough. The tiny girl swung her jelly shoe shod foot against the exam table and nearly missed kicking the doctor as he took note of her vitals. Jake was trying to observe silently, but Avery, aged six and a half, wasn't letting him off easy. "I'm not doing it. I'm a big girl."

She was glaring at him as though he had the needle laid by on the sterile sideboard. Jake tried to send her a comforting look. She was just a little girl. The last kid they'd seen earlier this week had screamed until his father had wrapped him up and held him still.

He had cried and only calmed when he was given a sticker and a promise that there would be no more shots today. Jake sat on the extra stool, attentive in his dress jeans and button front shirt.

"Avy..." Her mother began, tiredly.

With a smile, Dr. Haskins said, "You do like school, don't you? You must have your shots if you're going to stay in school." He wasn't ready to administer the vaccination, but he had mentioned it at the start of the exam when Avery's mother asked about her boosters, and Avery had kept her attention upon the eventuality of it, barely pausing to answer other questions.

Jake almost wished she was still talking about her clips.

"Nuh-uh!" She called out the doctor easily, with narrow eyes and a pitying expression, "Mom can fill out the form. Tommy Piascelli's mom signed his and he never gets shots. He said so, that's how. I want to be like Tommy Piascelli. See? Simple." Avery made her declaration with conviction.

She looked over at Jake. "Do you get shots?"

Jake understood his role here, even if he did not have much exposure to children. "Yes. My brother even got allergy ones every week." Jake supplied.

Seth's allergies were common in his family. Quinn had them just as strongly. They all did in one way or another. It was important, he thought, to stress how routine an injection of any kind could be to Avery. Sam gave herself B12 shots, in that she made Jake do it while she shut her eyes and pretended that getting stuck with a needle was not a big deal to her. It hurt that it probably really honestly wasn't a huge concern for her after everything.

The mother looked at him gratefully. Jake fell back into silence watching as Dr. Haskins worked through the rest of the well visit, but Avery wasn't having it. "I'm not a boy." She returned to the topic as the doctor uncapped the syringe, declaring her last ditch effort to stave off the injection with a defiant expression.

Jake smiled, "I've got a...friend." Jake said, and he realized that his inflection was softer, was different, like it always seemed to be when talking about Sam. He only realized it when Avery's mother looked at him, a wealth of knowledge in her expression.

She seemed to hear meaning and inflection that he had not realized he was placing there. It made his heart race. He wasn't denying their relationship, not in the way it looked, not in the way that some people meant friends with benefits, but he realized quickly that that was exactly how it sounded to the woman before him. Such an inference could not be father from the truth, and it nearly made him color. "She knows a secret about shots."

"Secrets aren't cool!" Avery cried, "You have to share with everybody." He remembered those days, when his brothers used to whisper stupid things just to rile him up and make him feel left out. He remembered yelling and his mother and father saying that if they had something to say that they could say it out loud. He knew that being excluded hurt.

"Well." Jake allowed, "I can tell you, but it only works if you let Dr. Haskins give you your shot."

Dr. Haskins nodded and checked the injection. He knew what Jake was going to do, and was prepared for it. There was nothing secret about preparing for a shot, and only a very few ways to handle it. Dr. Haskins would have this done in a snap, but he wanted Jake to learn and try, so he was going to bumble through this interaction somehow.

"Tell me!" Avery demanded. Her tiny body radiated with insistence.

"There are a few steps. Ready?" Jake asked, and when Avery nodded, Jake continued, "First, you've got to breathe really deeply, and you have to let it out really, really slowly. Can you do that?"

"Duh!" She cried, even as he mother looked at her disapprovingly. She proceeded to exemplify that she was a better breather than anyone in the room. She let out a pant and inhaled with a huff, but it served the purpose of where he was headed. He loved this part of shadowing, loved working with Dr. Haskins. It was...right, somehow. He liked kids, he'd realized.

Jake upped the ante, playing into the interaction. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPod and made a few clicks. He looked at Avery's mother, "I've got the Wicked soundtrack on here, and My Fair Lady." He didn't really have any kid friendly music. What did little kids listen to, anyhow? It wasn't like they had their own radio stations. He knew next to nothing about what kids were up to, today.

Her mother gave permission and Jake turned it on, and passed the iPod to Avery. He asked her, "Can you breathe just like that while listening to music?" Avery jammed out to Rex Harrison as the booster was quickly injected.

"That Stewie CD is great!" Avery called out as she gave back Jake's iPod and Dr. Haskins quickly applied a band-aid, a step up over the gauze and tape Sam had routinely peeled from her skin. The shot was over, and she grinned as her mother led her home. She left jabbering just as quickly as she had when she'd come, this time talking about her band-aid and the ice cream she had no doubt been bribed with upon her arrival.

Dr. Haskins was washing his hands when he looked questioningly at Jake.

Rather than explain about his personal experiences, he said, "I read a study which found that people were less physiologically distressed when they could watch TV or listen to music when getting shots."

Jake did not add that he'd heard about the study for the first time when sitting with Sam as she got another round of bloodwork and found the journal article online later. He did not say that he had to learn the breathing exercises even when it was not him getting the needles inserted into his skin because of his PTSD. He did not say that when a series of needles were needed, or when they couldn't find a vein, that Sam jammed out to Green Day and old Hoobastank albums. There was nothing to share.

He did need to think, though, he realized, when Dr. Haskins asked, "Your girlfriend is interested in medicine, too?"

Jake ripped away the cover and slid the roll to cover the table again as he replied, "Not really. She just knows more about it than I do." Jake couldn't stop the words. There was no balking in his easy reply. He knew that Sam didn't like the word, but it said a lot about how Dr. Haskins understood his meaning. It gave Jake a lot to think about. He'd said friend and he'd heard girlfriend. Did the word matter, so much, or was it the meaning he gave the word?

"Ah, well. Familiarity breeds contempt." He surveyed the room, and bid Jake quickly, "Well. Let's go and see if my 11:35 is here. You'll enjoy this. It's a well-baby exam. Have you ever heard of the Galant reflex?"

Jake was lost in thought after a long morning and an interesting afternoon that sped by quickly, one that included learning that the Galant reflex was something doctors used to see if infants were developing appropriately by checking if she arched her spine in response to stimuli. The baby he observed was entirely on-point with his development. Dr. Haskins obviously liked working with infants, as he took care to explain everything he was doing to the parents, and thusly, to Jake. Jake learned so much that his mind was mushy by the time Mrs. Haskins set out lunch in the small break-room in the practice.

Why had Avery's mother thought he'd said something he hadn't said? Why had Dr. Haskins heard something else in the exact same word. The way he said friend was different. He knew that. He heard his own voice betraying him in that room in the way that Darrell always said it did. Darrell was right. It was too something, too bland or too impassioned, he wasn't sure.

They needed to define their relationship. There was no other way. He wanted a word that fit what he felt about her, and somehow friend didn't cut it anymore, because of what people assumed. He would never say that to her, though, because she'd fly off of the handle if she thought that their relationship was off kilter, even though it was.

It was. The term 'friend' didn't cut it, not anymore, not to the world. When the world talked about friendship, they didn't mean people you wanted to spend forever with, people who factored into your everyday life, people you'd come to believe that you'd been born to walk through the world with, side by side, in all of the messy and wonderful facets of life.

He wanted, Jake realized, to call her his girlfriend, even though she wasn't and probably never would be. It was a childish term, one that paled in comparison to the depth of what he felt for her. A girlfriend wasn't a best friend that he loved and was building a life with. A girlfriend was someone he always figured he'd find, someone who would go out for pizza and talk about his fleeting hopes and dreams with while they ate, and go back to their own lives after that.

Sam was his best friend, the person who was still there when the pizza was cleaned up and the hard work of making those dreams come true was in front of them. She was the one person who knew before he did that his dreams had changed. There were no dreams without her there.

So, really, he wanted to settle on girlfriend because there was no other word that even came close to how he felt about her. It would have to do, but it nagged at him, mostly because Sam thought the word and the sentiment behind it was not at all their thing. He had to agree.

She was so much more in a different kind of way. A girlfriend was something a boy had, like they were playing at a relationship. He wasn't playing, and neither was Sam. He had no idea where they were going, but there was nothing transient about the bedrock of their relationship. It was their foundation that made the term 'girlfriend' feel so funny, like a joke to him. A dating couple had a different set of foundations for that kind of relationship, and when he thought about it, it was clear to him that nothing would ever change the friendship that they had built their lives upon.

It was a mess of terminology. Why didn't English have a word for their relationship, the strange gut-churning contentment that was at once completely old hat and completely brand new? There was no word to describe the feeling that came from having what they had. He didn't know if it was normal to praise God in his heart for the simple pleasure of hearing her breath shift as she was woke up in the morning, see the small things in life register in her heart. He figured that those were the things that made them more than friends. He was so confused that he didn't have the ability to sort it out in his mind, nor to make it clear to other people what they were.

The Haskins had the kind of relationship he thought he and Sam had. They worked together, worked towards shared goals. Mrs. Haskins ran the office, and Dr. Haskins treated patients. They joked and laughed far more than any two people he had ever seen.

Mrs. Haskins sorted files and she taught him again what all of the notations meant, as though he could not read a file. He refrained from interrupting her lesson, as she was a sweet lady, and he had to do something, anyhow. She had been going on for ages. Jake was still thinking about his own life when she continued, "Now, the color codes are really just another way to use the alphabet. It was a happy day when the system was updated when computers came in, as switching over was a hassle and half. The doctor's a wonderful partner, but he sure hates computers." She digressed, happily.

Mrs. Haskins looked over at him like a teacher might when she came to an important point, "Now, the purple dots..." Jake had figured out her filing system ages ago, but did not speak.

He was thinking over the word she used. Partner. He liked that word. It fit. He was Sam's partner in life, in the sharing equally of whatever was or would be between them. There were no societally enforced saccharine notions of poorly rooted, transient infatuation in the term like there could be in describing her as his girlfriend, nor did it fail embody the encompassing and deep nature of their relationship. He liked the word partner, because that's what they'd always been, and what they would always be.

_Tonight, old man, you did it!_

_You did it! You did it! You said that you would do it, and indeed you did._

_I thought that you would rue it; I doubted you'd do it._

_But now I must admit it, that succeed you did._

_All alone you hurdled every obstacle in sight._

_As sturdy as Gibraltar, not a second did you falter._

_There's no doubt about it, you did it!_

_You Did It_ , My Fair Lady

Sam pushed up her sleeves as she entered the pasture. The gate felt heavy and powerful under her hand. She moved quickly, not wanting to feel the sensations that the metal called from within her. She stood in the pasture, and, unable and unwilling to make the long walk to wherever her horses might be, she let out a shrill whistle that had them making their way towards her within seconds.

Kitty was nearer to her first, which led Sam to realize that she had been much closer to the top of the pasture than Ace had been, when he came round begging for a treat not seconds later. Sam ran her fingers over their hair, and felt the tactile prickles of the warm, horse scented bodies that loved her. She reached into the bag that she had taken from the barn, and held up a pick. "Who wants to go first?"

Ace looked at her like she was crazy, so Sam secured Kitty with a quick release knot because, while normally it wouldn't bother her, she wanted to be as careful as possible. She didn't want to give anyone a reason to get all wonky. Once Kitty was secure and comfortable, Sam ran her hand down each of her legs, pleased to see that Kitty picked up her hoof without the slightest issue. Sam carefully, carefully, maintained her own balance as she picked carefully around the frogs of Kitty's hooves.

"Good girl." Sam encouraged, "You're such a good lady, Kitty Cat." Kitty looked at her as if to say that she knew that Sam was pushing her own limits and was watching her, as any older woman might look after someone she considered to be her own.

Sam had to grab onto the fence once when she put the pick away, as she had to gather her equilibrium again, as her mind pulsated within her. Her legs were aching and her brain pounded as her sensory perceptions shifted again. Sam exhaled, and smiled, picking up a curry comb.

Kitty liked this part, and so did Sam. Ace wandered off to pull up grass and act like he was too cool to be waiting his turn. The circular motions were soothing to her fingers, and enthralled Sam's mind. She really liked the motion and the textures of it all.

Sam had to work quickly, though. Kitty preened under the attention, butSam's legs were aching and she hadn't thought of a way to get the chair down here by herself. It hadn't seemed as necessary as it currently did. She wanted to introduce the wheelchair to the horses so that this wouldn't be so much of an issue in the future. Sam groomed Kitty, and talked to them both, all the while thinking of the best way to make this work.

She wanted them, more than anybody on the planet, to see her and not the chair. It was vitally important to her that she do this correctly.

She couldn't do anymore. With the job less than half finished, Sam stepped away from Kitty. Sam kissed Ace's face, and replied, "You look very nice, Baby. We'll have to work on your penchant for dust, though." Sam joked, looking down at the skirt she wore. It was covered in horsehair and dirt from Ace's recent roll, and she felt bad that she did not have the stamina to see to him, too. Sam wiped her dirty hands on her skirt, and gathered up her tools.

Sam paused as she realized that they were expecting to be ridden. Kitty was staring at her balefully as she munched on grass, and Ace was looking at her, clearly asserting that he was going to be ridden first today, even if he was still waiting to be groomed. It clawed at her soul to break their hearts, and walk away. She did what was best for them, though, and did it with a smile.

Walking back to the barn, she texted Jake, "Desensitizing A&K to wheelchair? Y/N?" She had barely hit send when the phone buzzed rapidly with incoming texts.

"Will be over later. Will talk then." Sam was typing a reply, when another text came in almost a nanosecond after the first one, "Do not do anything until I get there."

Sam didn't bother to reply. If he thought he could capitalize 'anything' and get away with all caps to make his point, he had another thing coming. Sam quickly went back to her office to finish up school for the day so that she could really think about a game plan without Edgar Allen Poe hanging over her head.

_Well she talks about 'em, dreams about 'em, thinks about 'em all the time_

_Be lost without 'em, you can see it in her eyes_

_What is it, what is it with girls and horses?_

_She says, now when I was a young girl_

_They were my whole world_

_They were my one safe place and now that I'm older_

_I still lean on their shoulders_

_Still feel like that girl somedays_

_Girls and Horses_ , Templeton Thompson

Jake leaned against the fence of the ring, watching Ace and Kitty as they easily accepted Sam's chair. He watched silently for a time, knowing that Sam was too involved with the horses to even realize he existed. She was using basic trust building exercises, sitting there, creating positive associations with the chair.

Jake knew that was she was doing, also, was helping her horses to see the chair as part of her body rather than a big, scary, clunky, metal thing. They were fine, and they were clearly hamming it up to get extra cuddles and positive affirmations. Jake smiled. The horses had Sam snowed, but he guessed it wasn't all that bad, because she knew where the limits were, and she seemed happy enough to enforce them.

Jake nodded to Dallas, who was lingering nearby, as were Wyatt and Pepper. Grace was staring out the window. Sam was being closely observed, and he figured that she knew it all too well. Some of the things she was saying to the horses were obviously directed to her audience.

Jake grinned and hopped the fence. "Thought you were going to wait." He should have known better when she didn't reply. She would never lie to him. No, she just didn't say anything if she wasn't in the mood to have to deal with contradiction. It was when she fell silent that he had grown concerned, and moved along as quickly as possible towards River Bend.

She looked over from patting Ace. "I did." She replied, "I'm just sitting here."

Jake rolled his eyes. That was the whole point. He shot a glance heavenward and she laughed softly. "I can't stand to groom very long, so what I want to see is if I can do it sitting. You can be my lovely assistant." Jake realized that there was a bag of grooming tools hooked over the fence.

"Well..." Jake said slowly, "You've got a plan." He looked around and saw a haynet in the corner, not yet set up. Jake thought that he personally would have gone with cross ties, given that they were trained to them. He remembered belatedly that only Three Ponies had them, and made a mental note to find a spot for a set here. Sam shouldn't be tied to one thing, and having options was always beneficial.

She nodded, "I just want to see what I can do in the chair, and see how they feel about it." Ace shifted towards her, no hint of fear or worry in his bearing. Jake was pleased to see that he did not invade Sam's space. Obviously, her horses were well trained, even if they were new to the wheelchair. Jake hadn't supposed that they would have any real issue with it as long as they could still hear and see and smell Sam around it, and understand that it was a part of her.

Jake backed off, then. He propped himself against the fence, wishing he could give into the urge to hand her things and set things up and make it easy for her. He knew better, though, and he had too much respect for her to discredit her skills like that. Sam was perfectly fine, because her horses trusted her, and she trusted and knew her horses.

It wasn't easy to watch her wheel and move, knowing that changing the way she had always done things, and had hoped to do things when she was back, was forever changed. She would groom the average way, again, but it was tough to see her accepting that things had to change for a time.

Jake watched as she made good use of the chair, somehow moving it in the dirt in ways that leveraged her lack of strength to get the job done efficiently and with care, using all of the training in verbal cues to her best advantage.

She finished slowly, talking to each horse. He tried not to eavesdrop. Her saw her fumble with the knot to release Kitty. He knew Kitty would never intentionally hurt Sam, but this moment hit a bit too close to home. It had been in an unsure moment like this that Sam had fallen from Blackie's back.

Jake could not breathe. The sky was blue. The dirt was brown. His hands were sweaty. Sam was talking to Kitty about the knot, apologizing that her fingers weren't working. Jake fought hard to stay present. She might need him any second, and he had to be here. Jake breathed, and relaxed as Kitty was released.

Sam wheeled over to him. "My quick release knot wasn't quick releasing." Sam looked at her lap, "I could have hurt her." The shame in her voice was palpable. "She was fine, didn't even step away once without cause, but I trusted my knot."

Jake studied Sam's face. She was letting one small issue ruin all that she accomplished. "You do realize that you just groomed your horses, right?" He wanted her to see what she had just done, see her progress.

"I didn't do it correctly, now did I?" Sam sighed, "I can't even manage a knot I learned to tie when I was three." She looked up at him, accepting the wrong thing. She was supposed to be happy about what she had done, not annoyed about the one thing, out of the five hundred things she'd done right, that she had just messed up.

"You probably just pulled too tight." Jake replied, "Just cut it if push comes to shove, Sam." He'd had to cut through a knot, a time or two, himself, requiring replaced tack, but that was better than the alternatives. She was focusing on the wrong thing, but he knew that he too would have done the same thing. Frankly, he thought that she had put too much thought and effort into the knot and had, thereby, accidentally pulled it too tightly on one step or another under the assumption that she was following the steps to the letter rather than trusting her hands to just do it as they had a thousand times before.

"I can't because I can't remember where I put my knife." She said, wearily. Her dusty hand left a trail of dirt in her hair as she ran it through reflexively. "All in all, how'd I do?"

Jake grinned. "Fine, so long as you don't put dirt in your hair." He pulled a bit of dirt out of her hair, and dangled it in front of her eyes.

Sam snorted then, and her nose crinkled. Her could see the awareness of what she had just accomplished bloom in her eyes, and he knew that they would be fine. Her horses were unfazed and happy, and that's all she wanted.

Jake could not help but smile in return. He knew that one day, she'd look back on this and see the big picture. "Alright." He said, quickly, breaking off before he blurted out how beautiful she was like this, alight with the rush of what she had just done. "You let them out, you put them back."

Sam shot him a look as she moved away from the fence and towards the horses. She knew exactly what he was thinking about just then. She clicked softly, and like the Pied Piper, led her horses back to the pasture without the benefit of a lead, other than the ones she had on their hearts. Jake followed along, just to make sure, and just to stay in this dream a bit longer.

_I sold what I could and packed what I couldn't_

_I've loved like I should but lived like I shouldn't_

_I had to lose everything to find out_

_Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road_

_I'm movin' on_

_I'm Movin' On_ , Rascal Flatts

Sam pulled on the knot. It did not give. She cursed roundly. J.J. spoke, censure laden in his tone, "Sam." Sam nearly gasped. He hadn't been there seconds ago.

She yanked silently and the rope fell apart in her hands. Her hands were killing her, and she was tired. Sam decided to pack in and get out of here and let J.J. have the space to do his evening chores. She did not reply as she put away the rope over a hook that she had to reach fairly high up to get to. Sam realized that she might just have to put in a new hook. She finally spoke, "Have a good night, J.J."

It was still creepy to be around him, but she was determined to be civil, a good leader. She headed inside, and left the chair at the base of the stairs by the side of the house, and made her way into the kitchen.

Jake was there, still, reading some articles that he needed to finish for a paper.When she came in, he reminded her, "You have PT tomorrow."

Sam considered how to fill her time."Yeah." She looked around, "Where's Dad?" The kitchen was clearly shut down for the night, Gram having set out the items that she needed for breakfast on the counter. Sam heard the clack of Gram's needles in the living room.

She debated going and sitting with her for a time, but decided that she would see how she felt in a little bit. She wanted to talk to Dad about some stuff that had come up today with a potential client.

He looked over the top of his paper and met her gaze, "He flew out of here smelling like a vat of cologne." Jake flipped the page over, "Next he'll tell everyone not to wait up like some high schooler on extended curfew."

Sam smothered a laugh. That did describe Dad when he was around that woman. He was trying, though, and so would she. Sam could not allow herself to get angry. She could handle this dating thing, so long as it wasn't thrown in her face. At loose ends, Sam headed up the stairs, and tossed "Don't run the water." back over her shoulder.

Jake was reading, some thick tome like it was water and air and the secrets of the universe though, and she doubted he even heard her or would recall the conversation later. Sam showered and was spraying down the damp shower chair, as it had to be occasionally cleaned after a shower when Jake came upstairs and hugged her until there was no air in their lungs.

He dried the bathroom floor for her, and left to attend to the house. His touch, as always, lingered on her skin even through the nightgown she wore.

Sam spent the evening with Gram, played a few hands of Uno, and talked about school and what was going on at church. It was a nice night, one that sped by quickly. Gram was healing, and so was she, somehow, and they were finding common ground again. It was nice to feel normal, at least in this small way.

Sam liked this nightgown. It was a bit warmer than many others, but it was comfortable, a grey and navy dot pattern with a navy robe over the top. Sam felt the sleeve of the robe bat her in the face as she yanked a box down from her closet. She had tossed a lot of things in here, unable to look at them.

She needed her knife, though, for Kitty and Ace's sakes. The box fell to the floor in a thunk. Sam was glad that no one came running. Gram was asleep, but Sam couldn't sleep because Jake wasn't here. The house was going on the market tomorrow. He needed it to be sold, and of course there was last minute drama. He had to be there, anyhow. He couldn't leave it all to Darrell and Quinn.

This inability to really sleep without him was probably something Ella would have wanted to address. Sam didn't mind it, she liked sharing the tiny moments of life with Jake, liked his grip on her body in the night, liked hearing his heartbeat, liked that by the time they woke up in the morning that their heartbeats moved in unison.

Sam opened the box, and ignored most of the contents. She couldn't face them, not yet and maybe not ever. Her knife, anyhow, was on the top of the jumble of items. She gripped it, and knew that she would have to keep it on her, as she always had before. Sam did not know if she should be happy or sad at this moment. It was a vast understatement to say that she was deeply conflicted.

She was glad that she was moving towards being herself, but knowing that she might not ever get there was agony. She shoved the box closed, and pushed into the closet, closing the door quickly. She could not go through that box now. It held too much that still made her hurt and want for things that were and might never be again.

Sam scrambled up into her bed, plopped on her stomach, and kicked her legs out as she scrambled to turn out the lamp. At least with Jake not home, she could make him very sorry not to have any space to sleep. She could also ensure that he did wake her up out of necessity when he did rouse himself to actually show up. She was going to kill Jake if she had bags under her eyes in the morning, although they might go well with the scars and bruises.

_She's a woman, she know how to dish it out or take it all_

_Her heart's as soft as feathers, still she weathers stormy skies_

_A kaleidoscope of colors, you can toss her around and round_

_You can keep her in you vision, but you'll never keep her down_

_Gentle as the sweet magnolia, strong as steel, her faith and pride_

_She's an everlasting shoulder, she's the leaning post of life_

_And she's a sparrow when she's broken, but she's an eagle when she flies_

_Eagle when she Flies_ , Dolly Parton

Jake parked it in the chair with a sigh of relief, glad that the house was finally done after the last all-nighter he would ever have to put in there. The house was on the market and Darrell had two showings tomorrow. He looked around the room, glad that he wasn't staring at the walls of the house when he opened his eyes. The waiting area was tiny and provided a good view of the session space.

He found that you could always judge the tone of a place by the waiting room. The radiologists had magazines that were crisp and new, suggesting that long waits were common. The staff did their best to mitigate that with magazines. Ella never provided magazines, because she believed you should be reflecting or relaxing in preparation for your appointment. Dr. Francis didn't put things like that in his waiting room. He was a cut above issues of Health in that he had a bookcase that was a lending library in his waiting room. Jake often dropped off a book or two and took one in return, as was the policy. Jake liked waiting rooms, even if he did not like waiting.

This office was clean, and starkly new, a branch of a rehab facility in Elko. There were signs all over about AgrAbility and ranching with a disability. There was even a sign for hippotherapy. Jake turned back to his book, making note of the ranch that hosted the sessions in the back of his mind. It could turn out to a be a good idea, he thought, as all of the therapists continually said it might be.

Sam was working with her new therapist, Terri, a large and sunny woman with a no-nonsense attitude and an easily triggered sense of humor. The room was small, and Sam was the only client in at this time of the morning. The old man that had been here overlapping with Sam's session had just left with a tip of his hat to the receptionist. Sam caught his eye and pressed her head down on the mat towards the edge of the mat as Terri used a goniometer on Sam. The plastic wheel and arms existed to measure range of motion.

Terri finished taking measurements, and Sam sat up as Jake crossed the small space and sat down on the edge of the powder blue table mat. Terri quickly tossed a ball at Jake, and he caught it sheepishly. S

am rolled her eyes, a clear "whatever" resounding in the room as loudly as if she had said it aloud. Terri reached around the other end of the mat and scooted out a large green ball.

"Your throne, ma'am." She joked, but it fell relatively flat as Sam pushed up to standing and transferred to the ball.

She scooted out, using the ball and her feet, so that she was not resting the ball against the edge of the mat now that she was sitting. Jake saw her hips rock forward, a compensation she was not supposed to make when sitting on the ball. She straightened forcefully, and looked at him. "Well, aren't you going to throw the darn thing?"

Jake put the ball in his other hand, and stood. Terri was watching, as this was all by her bidding. Jake tossed the ball slowly, down the center. Sam barely touched it as she cradled it against her clothed stomach. He saw the look of revulsion on her face. "You have to touch it to throw it back, Sam." Terri prompted.

Sam swallowed, grabbed the thing by one of its wiggly little endings. She knew that it wouldn't fly with Terri, but Jake could literally see her screaming internally. Her skin was crawling, but she couldn't draw inward, pick up her feet and recoil, if she was to stay seated on the ball. Jake looked at Sam carefully. Just as he thought she was going to drop the ball to the floor and scream in overstimulation, Sam inhaled deeply, and quickly threw the ball.

Jake had to step to the side to catch it, but he didn't even care. He knew he was cheating in giving her a few extra seconds. This was supposed to be fast, he was supposed to barely give her time to react, but an extra five count in his head was the base of his compassion. He couldn't not let her breathe, let the sensation fade, even though they both knew it would take longer to build a tolerance to the sensory stimulation the wiggly ball provided. He could not be objective, and Sam did not ask for it. He could be as objective and as tough as she wanted with other people, but not with her.

They tortured each other will the ball, and then the cones that Kyla had introduced Sam to, and then, finally, Terri led them both to the back of the open gym. Jake was not looking forward to this bit. There, stood a large trampoline.

Sam balked. "I did that already. I'm not getting on." She stood resolutely, firmly. Jake heard the anxiety in her tone, though he knew Terri missed it entirely. He did not know what to do. Part of him knew that Sam wanted this, but another part of him wanted to tell her she was fine as she was and all of this could go to hell. She would never take the coward's way out, not like he wanted to do. "I'll leave before I make myself throw up again."

Terri said calmly, "You need to do this. Your vestibular system is only going to get better with controlled exposure. You don't need to push yourself, but you need to try." She gestured to a nearby bench, "You can take off your shoes. You need to feel the base."

"You try sticking your feet on that thing and see if you like it." Sam returned, yanking off her shoes. The trampoline was large, and loomed in the converted barn. It was not huge, but it could have easily fit all of the family with space to spare.

"I never ask my clients to do anything I wouldn't do with a smile." Terri replied, as Sam got onto the trampoline.

He knew that this vestibular activity was one she really needed, but he also understood why it was so very hard to begin. Terri probably did not see her patients as they coped with the six to eight hour aftermaths of having their tenuous senses of equilibrium disturbed. It wasn't her problem. It was Sam's, and in that moment, he hated the world for forcing this upon her.

Jake watched Sam's feet tense, her toes curl in her socks, and her eyes close. She let go of the handle and stepped to the center. He watched her wobble, watched her step towards the center carefully, weight shifting as the taunt material moved with her.

Her whole body was tense and Sam was ready to snap. "This is too much." She muttered it, obviously not waiting Terri to hear.

She tipped her head back slightly, a soft exhalation escaping her lips in a whoosh as she did so. Jake was relegated to a sideline position as her inner strength came out to sustain her as she confronted a challenge very few people faced. Jake understood Sam's explanations. She'd told him that she felt like her body, her senses, had betrayed her, but she would not let them stop her. Not even her own fear and terror caused her to back down. He could not say the same about himself.

Terri spoke, "Okay? Got your balance?" Sam made an affirmative sound, and Terri continued, "Alright, jump." Jake watched Terri, and not Sam, as she talked, providing additional stimulation that Sam did not need. Her body was already thrumming with awareness. No matter how she tried to avoid it, she could not turn off her hypersensitivity.

Jake knew that Terri was going to quiz Sam gently, see what she remembered from her monologue as a test to her auditory recall. According to the medical files, that facet of her recovery was minimal. Jake didn't care to speculate on the truth of that assertion. It didn't enter into their relationship, and so it wasn't his business.

Sam put everything she had into this, and she hated every second of it. Jake could see her dislike, her unease, lurking under her expression of concentration and determination. He read it easily in how tightly her arms were wrapped around her body. After an endless time, Terri let her down with quiet praise. It was mitigated by the assertion that "We've got to work on your arms, Sam."

Sam didn't reply with much information, utterly spent as she fumbled with her shoes. Jake saw her nearly gag as she lowered her head in the process. Moving was going to be hard for a while tonight. It was to be expected, though it wasn't always this awful for her. He nearly grabbed the garbage can as she hid a gag with a fake cough that fooled no one.

It was important to Sam that they maintain the facade, though. She would say something if she needed anything. On Monday, they'd sat for a bit in the truck until she said they could head home.

They left soon after she had her shoes on, and Jake noticed that she rubbed her hands on her arms because her skin was crawling. Jake touched every surface and door on the way out, even going so far as to forge her signature on the sign out log so that she wouldn't have to feel the slick plastic and the nubby rubber of the pen's grip in her overly sensitive hand.

In the parking lot, he touched her arm to help her into the truck, and stood there as Sam pressed his hand down into her flesh and she leaned against him. Thank God, Jake thought, because he really needed a hug.

 _I hate seagulls and I hate being sick_  
I hate burning my finger on the toaster and I hate nits   
I hate falling over   
I hate grazing my knee   
I hate picking up the scab a little bit too early

 _But  I have a friend, with whom I'd like to spend anytime I can find_  
With ... I like sleeping in your bed   
I like knowin' what is goin' on inside your head   
I like taking time and I like your mind   
And I like when your hand is in mine

_But then you're back and I am fine 'cause you're with me  
And I'm in love with you_

_I Hate Seagulls,_ Kate Nash

 

Sam leaned back against the seats. "I hate that." Her head was spinning and her stomach, though slowly calming, was in knots. Her mind was still overreacting, telling her that she was going to fall and fall and fall, "Thanks for the ride." She knew that Jake would understand what she was really saying.

Jake didn't reply. He didn't much like being thanked. Sam figured that was his problem. When they were out on the road, past the immediate observation of the cops that lurked near buildings, Sam pulled her feet up on the seat before her, her thighs and hamstrings aching as she pulled her knees too close to her body. She just wanted to curl into a ball.

"You did well, Sam." Jake murmured.

He was kind enough, aware enough, to keep quiet. His soft words sounded like a shout in her head, but she knew that he was softly speaking because he always did when she was like this. She could not trust her senses, but she could trust him, and she could tell herself that she wasn't going to fall, no matter what her mind was saying. Every sense she had was hyperaware, and she shut her eyes. Sam saw color behind her eyes, electric blues and greens and yellows.

Sam tried to open her eyes, but found the movement of the pavement in front of her to be too much to interpret and understand without screaming. She licked her lips and shut her eyes again, forcing out the words from under the siege of sensations. "I fantasize about lighting that squishy ball on fire." It was still in her hands, still on her skin, according to her mind.

"Yeah?" Jake asked, with a smile Sam heard, even if she didn't see it. It lit her body with a surge of comfort and joy, "Me, too."

Sam got herself inside quickly, and flopped on the couch, too weary to make her way to her bed. She turned to face the back of the couch, and felt the textures of the cushions digging into her body. Her skin was prickling.

Every touch was too much. She did not bother to remove her sneakers, and hooked her feet around each other as she yanked her knees up into her stomach as she rested on her side. She could not bear this, but she had no choice. Sam let Jake pull off her shoes and listened as the silence of the house rang in her ears like a cannon.

What no one understood was that she still feel that trampoline. It wasn't really there, she knew, but she felt it all the same. Kyla and Terri and the doctors went on and on about sensory avoidance, and it was true. She did avoid things, but only the things that would stay with her like this. Stimuli messed with her.

No matter what she did, her body refused to interpret things as they ought to be interpreted, let alone allow her brain process and react to it correctly.

Some time later, Sam realized that there was a blanket on top of her and that every blind in the room was pulled down. She vaguely remembered that happening. Sam sat up and felt immense pressure in her body, like she had a fever or a cold. She knew that she didn't, knew that her mind would be clear soon.

This whole process was draining and embarrassing because everyone knew what was going on, even if they did not understand it. There was a symphony of sensation in her head, but it was awful and discordant, every instrument playing off key at once, with no conductor to make sense of it all. When the whole thing came to a crescendo, it was literally hell.

Back in San Francisco, she had screamed when a tag from her clothing had driven her up the wall until she'd figured out that she could tear it out. This was a bit like the reaction she'd had the night she and Jake had come home for the first time. She couldn't expect that Jake would wake up with her every single time this happened. She could not let this waylay her.

Her goal was to get back on her feet, she decided. She rose slowly. She stepped forward and knocked into the coffee table, unable to tell if it was her Prioperceptive receptors or her vestibular system that was causing her trouble now. Her head was pounding.

Sam sat down in the arm chair with a whoosh. She would leave the room when she got her stuff together. Her toes had carpet burn, from what she wasn't sure, but she could feel it intensely.

Sam stared down at her feet, and wrapped her arms around body. Sam licked her lips, feeling the texture of her skin as she realized that her mouth was dry. Her spit was thick and she needed water. Sam pushed up again, feeling the texture of the couch cousin as she slid forward on the couch to push nose over toes, and the disturbing twirl of her mind as she went from sitting to standing.

Where the hell was her wheelchair? She dismissed the idea, because she knew that touching the hand-rims would be too much. They were too smooth, too cold, too wrong somehow, to be borne right now. Sam fumbled her way towards the door, and nearly slipped as her mind adjusted from being on the carpet to being on the wooden floor of the hallway and kitchen. She was completely alone, it seemed.

Sam yanked with too much force on the fridge and chided her senses again. The ice cold water in the blue jug in the fridge was impossible. She couldn't grip it, couldn't carry it to the counter under the cups. Sam drank tap water, leaning on the sink as she filled the cup repeatedly and drained it rapidly. She felt like she was going to drop the cup, but thankfully, she did not.

She wanted to scream force her mind into some sense of order. Screaming never worked, not really. It had taken her the better part of 20 minutes to get a drink because every movement was giving her too much information, information her mind refused to ignore.

There was a loud noise reverberating in her ears. Sam could not find its source. She looked up quickly, thinking that the window had shattered. The sunlight streaming through the window was weak. She had no idea what time it was, Sam realized. Everyone was not inside.

She was alone and there was this huge noise that she couldn't find. It was fine. Her clip was digging into her head, but the thought of any more hair on her face was impossible to consider as the noise reverberated again and again. Sam flinched at the sound. She pushed the hair away, and in looking down, saw a bit of water hit the sink as the sound cracked again in her mind.

Sam realized that she had left the water trickling from the faucet, the tink, tink, tink, of water as it hit the big sink was the sound that was making her cringe. A few drops of water sounded like a bomb going off in her head. She could not trust her own perceptions.

The wood under her feet turned into the black bottom of a trampoline as she made her way back towards the fridge. Sam's throat felt tight as she opened the fridge, and gripped the door to remain standing. Another few hours, her mind said, and this would be over.

Her heart said she might not make it. She knew that this was her normal, but she was frustrated. There was yogurt in the fridge, and there was pudding. Pudding. Sam decided, reaching for the bowl in the fridge. She realized that the bowl was going to shatter if she tried to carry it, because she could barely walk without feeling like she was on a trampoline.

Sam knew she was doing okay. She was handling making a choice, logically. This was a huge mile marker on this road of recovery. She could figure out steps in a process. She was doing this. Food required a utensil. She picked up a yogurt and turned away, glad that she had a good hold on the carton as she wobbled towards the strainer that held clean spoons. Sam placed the yogurt and the spoon on the table carefully.

After checking that the chair was safe, she sat down, dizzy with relief as her bottom hit the chair and her legs turned into jelly. She wanted pudding, but yogurt was fine. That was, until it got on her fingers as she removed the lid.

The texture was revolting. There were grainy bits that she would never have otherwise noticed. It was fruit, and it hurt. It hurt, grew tight and acidic against her skin. It felt wrong and awful and wrong. The wrongness so overwhelming.

Sam wiped her hands on the front of her pants quickly, the black fabric course under her fingers. It was so gross. She had to eat it. She wanted to eat it. Hungry people ate.

But how could she eat something with bits in it, bits that were gritty and terrible and made her skin crawl? Sam stirred the yogurt, wishing that she could get over it.

She liked this kind, and her mind needed to shut up. Sam closed her eyes and stuck the spoon in the carton, and put the spoon in her mouth. It was yogurt. She liked yogurt, and her perceptions were not to be trusted.

The food hit her tongue, and almost instantly her mouth spit it out into the napkin she grabbed, retching and spluttering as her eyes watered. Sam sighed, and took another bite with disastrous results. This time, it went all over her shirt.

She could not force herself to swallow. Sam felt the grit of the fruit in her mouth for ages after that, felt it poke at her mouth like a canker sore, felt it there after she brushed and brushed and brushed and scrubbed at her top. The wet top clung to her body until she ripped it off and found another one.

Her perceptions were not to be trusted, Sam realized, but they would be obeyed, even if she did not like it. Just as she heard people enter the house, Sam turned the water on full blast and watched as the yogurt went down the drain, tiny droplets of water hitting her clean shirt. Hopefully no one would say anything about the blueberries in the sink. She could not even bring herself to touch them. Their blue shade mocked her, and instilled a deep revulsion within her as they grouped in the sink, soggy and victorious.

_I can feel her gentle fingers tracing patterns on my skin_

_As the curtain of sleep rules through my eyes_

_That's the only way to say good morning_

_Makes a perfect day when you start it right_

_That's the only way to say good morning_

_When a perfect day is over and we're lying here together_

_That's the only way to say good night..._

_That's the Only Way to Say Good Morning_ , Ray Price

Jake woke up in the best way, with a slowly building sense of awareness. The morning was bright, but the light was muffled by the blinds. He had absolutely nothing to do today that would require him to leave the ranch. It was his idea of perfection. Sam snuffled as Jake tried to get some of the blankets back. When he reached out gently, he noticed that her arms were wrapped tightly around her own torso, leaving too much space between them, and her hands trapped under her body. Jake did his level best to ignore his natural responses to her proximity.

It wasn't going to kill him, no matter what his body was screaming. There would be other mornings like this, other mornings that he could wake her up, and they could fall into infinity as the day began. It was a hopeful, if disconcerting, thought because it came so quickly, when he was half-asleep, before he even consciously remembered that they had boundaries they'd not yet negotiated. Jake contented himself with pulling her towards him gently, assured that her arms would reflexively wrap around him.

When they didn't, his mind switched tracks, and her realized that her hypertonia was acting up. With a different goal in mind, Jake gently ran his hand up her arms and around her shoulders, feeling the contraction in her muscles as clinically as he was able, which was to say not at all. He pulled down the sheets a bit and took her hand and ran his fingers over hers, wishing he could remove the ache she was doubt feeling as she weaned herself off of the muscle relaxants that she'd been on for months. It was an ongoing process, not at all helped by yesterday's activity.

Jake stared in the growing light at her skin, the blue pearlescence of her skin in the early sunlight contrasting with a pink sleep shirt that she'd no doubt picked from the old lady's section of the store when Sue wasn't looking. It was cozy, she said, and he'd understood her meaning last night. The thin flannel would chase the chill in her body away, the one that came from the war her body waged internally.

Jake opened his eyes again to stare at her as they were face to face. She was asleep, although he did not feel the least bit creepy about pressing his thumb gently into her palm, slowly manipulating her fingers to passively relax her hand.

It was ethereal and intimate, if not in the way he'd been dreaming about. The contact warmed and soothed him, and it was enough. Being here, just like this, waiting to face the day, waiting and trying to make it better because of the fact that they were together, was a blessing.

Sam woke slowly, just as her neck arched to the side, and Jake's touch was smoothing down the muscles there, gently, feeling her pulse under his fingers, and the satiny skin of her earlobe as he brushed along it with his knuckles.

"Oh, God." Sam said, as she cracked an eyelid, and took in what he was doing to her body, even though he'd felt her wake up at least 90 seconds ago. "Not in bed, Jake, really."

She didn't pull her hand away as he continued to do what he could to get her hands to relax again, now that her arms were not around her body and he was leaning over her, looking down into her eyes as she faced him. No doubt they were cramped from sleeping on top of them, as she had, with a closed fist, even if Sam was on her side now. Her warmth was all around him, and it was enough. It was simple and joyful and wonderfully enough.

Jake just smiled at her. Her hair was a mess, and she was indignant, but he could not bring himself to care. She had been in pain, and now she wasn't, because of something he was doing.

It was heady, and powerful, and addicting. She was enjoying this, and so was he, so what was the problem exactly? He certainly didn't have one. Sam breathed for a few beats, and when she realized he wasn't about to stop, she pushed herself closer and gave her better leverage to reach around her body, wrap her up in his arms and focus on her spine, the place from which much of the physical manifestations of her tensity came.

Her face was close to his that her eyelashes brushed his nose when she blinked, "I swear, you'd get off on the Sammons Preston catalog." Her right hand pressed into his chest.

Jake cracked a smile. "Shush." Sam's fingers were pressing into his skin, her nails dancing over his tattoo. Touching obviously didn't hurt now. Jake rubbed her back, and winced when her back cracked as she arched into the touch. His movements were thoughtless and instinctual, sleepy and slow as his hand made slow circles over her back. Sam opened her eyes to look at him, and smiled.

They were nose to nose as Sam decided to put her hand on the back of his neck. "You are so weird." She yawned, and kicked at the blankets. They slid down her body, barely impeded by her old lady nightgown. Jake saw that there were cats on the thing. There were cats on her nightgown. He loved it.

"It's official." Sam asserted catching his smile, "Strange." 

After a second, she demanded, "If you're going to touch me, touch me." She finished her observations with an order. Jake realized that his touch had been feather light, as he was afraid of hurting her after all of that hypersensitivity.

She was back on an even keel, it seemed, because she hummed in contentment when he put more pressure into the movement, though that might have been from the fact that his knees shifted closer to hers, leaving almost no space between them as he did so.

"'m not weird." He whispered, just to keep hearing her voice, hear the happy, silly, contented notes it in. It was the best thing ever, and it was even better because he was the only person who had ever heard her voice like this. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to breathe her air, and would have done it, had she not yawned again, and blinked. She was too pretty like this, too at ease, too contented to change the tone of the moment.

Jake rubbed her back, and Sam hummed as she wiggled her toes against his calves and she sheets. She blinked, even though her eyes were barely open. "Are so. You have the perfect opportunity to touch me, and you..." She did not finish, obviously not willing to waste words on the obvious. It was too early for chatter. "Strange man."

Jake stared at her as her hand curled around the back of his neck gently, trying not to grin. He knew what was coming next. Sam's slim, warm, body lulled him into sleep him as she curled into the space their bodies made. "First you insult me, and now you expect a cuddle?"

"Idiot." Sam rolled her eyes, without opening them, but he knew that she had done it, just the same.

Jake didn't even bother to pretend to be annoyed. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, rested his head against her, and let the morning light wash over them as they cuddled together. Sam put an end to to discussion by hooking her leg around his, and snuffling like she did when she was relaxed enough to sleep.

"Evil." He whispered, his lips dancing over her tattoo as he released her hand, "Just sleep."

Sam threw her arms over his shoulders and pulled them together. After another few seconds, she dropped off into sleep, and Jake stared, and allowed himself to understand that he was unapologetically happy.

He just wanted to stay here forever. It was not to be, though, as he heard Dad getting up, and he had to get back to his own room without being seen. Everyone might be cool with Sam staying here, but they all believed that they had adjusted to having walls between them. Jake tried not to groan out loud as he realized that he couldn't find his shirt on her bedroom floor.

_I feel something so right_

_By doing the wrong thing_

_And I feel something so wrong_

_By doing the right thing_

_I couldn't lie, couldn't lie, couldn't lie_

_Everything that kills me makes me feel alive_

_Counting Stars_ , OneRepublic

Jake found himself setting down with the computer again after a long night. He hated that trampoline, hated how Sam trembled so badly the entire night, hated that her clothes and her socks and the very texture of their sheets had set her nerve endings on edge. Brushing her hair before bed had nearly made her cry.

She'd spat out dinner without a word before heading off to bed, where she didn't sleep. She stared at the wall. Finally, when Jake had crawled in beside her, he found every itchy, aggravating thing had to go. He didn't much mind that his shirt was on the list, nor did he mind that Sam fell asleep, her warm breath pooling on his chest.

He was thankful for his lifetime of working with the horses. He at least had some ground work for all of this, the idea that had been stewing within him for ages. He could contextualize new concepts within old information and he was glad of it. Jake clicked through another page. He was hopeful that Sam would be receptive to the idea, but he didn't want to bring it up without some idea of what was what, so that he didn't sound stupid or ill-informed when talking to her about it. She knew so much from her time in rehab that often he couldn't quite put the pieces together as quickly as she she could.

He fiddled around with information for a good two hours, and went out to work. His mind and heart were heavy and manual labor would help him to sort things out. Sam's recovery was achingly slow, and painful. They might be making strides interpersonally and with the horses, but the injury was large and still there.

He was completely powerless in the face of it all, in the face of everything that had landed in Sam's lap. He could stand there, be supportive, be quiet and there. Nobody realized how hard it was, sometimes, to watch her want to cry, and have too much strength and pride to do it. He watched her hold in her tears and smile like nothing was wrong. She thought too much about other people.

Even as draining as Terri and her colleagues were for her, Sam was still kind, still sought to soothe him. Jake thought once, for two point three seconds, about not being the one to insist on taking her.

The discussion with Wyatt had been hard enough, and the man kept trying to bring it up. Sam didn't want Wyatt there, and if Wyatt thought that Jake was just going to step aside and stop doing the things he was supposed to do, Wyatt had another thing coming. Jake had to stop hanging around the barn, he realized, as he walked down that way and heard his father and Wyatt talking, over the sound of the chickens. Jake did not interrupt them as he walked by.

"Jake!" Wyatt called out towards him, "Do you have a minute?" Dad stepped away from Wyatt's truck, and Jake realized that this had all been a set up. His father glanced at him encouragingly, and Jake wanted to glare. He'd been set up. He'd thought that he wouldn't have to see Wyatt today, but the universe had conspired against him. Well, he figured that something had to balance out the morning, and the pain-free expression in Sam's eyes.

Jake sighed internally. "What's up?" He watched Wyatt, trying to hide the unease he felt as he looked at the man who had meant so much to him. Looking at Wyatt was like looking at his past.

"I'd like you to take your job back." Wyatt said with no preamble.

"No." Jake replied, easily. "Pepper has it covered." There was no way he was going to enter into that power dynamic with Wyatt. He couldn't do it. He could not let that relationship mess up anything else. He wasn't going to let Wyatt have any kind of power over him.

A stern look crossed Wyatt's face. "Is it about the money?" Jake stared back at him, revealing nothing.

How could he honestly say anything about money? Hadn't the tearing up of his check into bits been enough? What did Jake have to do, hire a skywriter? Jake set the bucket by his feet before his hand broke from gripping it so tightly. "Nothing you could offer me would convince me to work for you again. It's over."

Wyatt shifted. "I'm not asking for your own sake. She's over there now like she never left. Sam's been getting back to work, and she won't tell me what she should and shouldn't be doing, and it occurred to me that if you took your job back..." The cool wind that had come through on a sudden front blew past them, and Jake felt it brush against the hairs on his neck.

Jake paused, "You don't think she knows what she's doing, do you?" He understood Wyatt's fear. He lived with it, but it was tampered somewhat by the fact that he trusted Sam and rationalized by months in mental health treatment. She would never willingly risk herself. She wasn't a child, and he would never be Wyatt's spy. He would not be their buffer, not for Wyatt. If Sam wanted him to do that, there would be no question that he would, but he would not do this for Wyatt.

Wyatt looked absolutely dejected and Jake was taken aback by the raw emotion on his face. Jake filled the silence. He wasn't out to get Wyatt. He was mad at him, didn't like his choices, but that didn't mean he hated him. "She's nobody's fool, Wyatt. She's okay." Jake knew that no matter how tough things could be, that she was okay. He trusted that, had to cling to it when he saw her fading bruises and the ever growing strength of her resolve.

"Please think about it." Wyatt said, making a quick decision."It doesn't have to be a job. I just don't want her to be alone out there. How can she even be okay today after what..."

Wyatt did not understand how resilient her mind was, how strong she was, how she was taking the world on with her passions in mind. Jake couldn't believe it. She'd gone from refusing to walk into her barn and see her horses because she didn't think she was strong enough, to discovering that she could find a way to pull her weight a thousand times over and take care of her horses.

She was amazing for that fact alone, and the fact that Wyatt did not understand her strength rattled him. She had been in pain yesterday and woke up with a smile on her face this morning. Sam was who she was, and Wyatt needed to respect that. Wyatt began, "And she told off Pepper this afternoon for following her around, and I thought..."

Jake understood then. Wyatt wanted him to use his relationship with Sam to do Wyatt's bidding. "You thought she'd tell me off, too, but that I wouldn't care."

Months ago, before all of this, he would have done exactly as Wyatt asked. He would have proceeded to follow Sam around every second of every day, and part of him wanted to do that still, but not like this. If he helped out at River Bend, he wanted it to be a choice that he and Sam made, one that they went to Wyatt and talked about with Wyatt once he and Sam had come together on a decision between them. He could not side with Wyatt like this, no matter how much he wanted to do what he was asking.

He just could no longer do this his way. He couldn't do that now, couldn't use their relationship to further anything outside of it. Something inside of him had shifted. He'd grown up. When he thought about doing as Wyatt asked, he thought about her resolve to groom her own her own horses, she to whatever she could in the barn. She had this handled, and she needed the freedom to find her own way. He wanted to be beside her as she did it, not in front of her.

"Please don't ask me to violate her trust in me again, Wyatt." He'd done it a few times now, twice that really stood out when Jake thought about it. He wasn't much for repeated warnings but fair was fair. "The ends don't justify the means."

He found that this time, his blood wasn't boiling. He missed the heady rush, the internal questioning of what had gone wrong between them, what had made Wyatt say these things. He missed the days when this behavior wasn't something he'd come to expect from Wyatt. He missed the days when he'd idolized Wyatt, when he'd wanted to be nothing more than just like him. He missed the simplicity of it all when getting what he wanted justified any action that meant getting it. Sometimes, growing up really and truly hurt.

Wyatt said nothing as he gripped the door of his truck. Jake picked up his bucket and walked away without another word. There was nothing left to say, nothing that would burn every bridge that he'd tried to build. He wanted to holler and shout at Wyatt. He found that Sam had taught him something he'd never hoped to learn. The loudest of screams was not in bellowing words, but in the painful silence that said far more.

_I must be invisible, no one knows me._

_I have crawled down dead-end streets on my hands and knees._

_'Cause I'm a lonely stranger here, well beyond my day._

_And I don't know what's goin' on, so I'll be on my way._

_Lonely Stranger_ , Eric Clapton

Sam wished that she had skipped this whole day and stayed with Gram. Sam tugged at her shirt nervously, her relaxation from this morning, from how well her schoolwork had gone, fading in an instant. This was her second newspaper meeting since starting the extension a few days ago, and she hoped this meeting would be better than the first. The door to the classroom was open, and Sam knew that she had to walk in there.

Her legs felt like balloons as they trembled in her shoes. The last meeting had been awful. The message had been sent. She was here, not because she belonged to the staff anymore, but because she had to be allowed in here, legally. The exclusion was so minute that Sam knew it had to be in her head.

Every idea for a story she'd had was either ignored, or was no longer relevant. That wasn't their fault, though. It couldn't be. She shook the racing thoughts away. Everyone here had no problems with her. It was all in her head, just like her hatred of blueberries.

She felt so out of step in the room that she had left last meeting wanting never to come back. She remembered thinking that these people were her friends, and that she deserved the chance to find her footing with them, just as they deserved the same with her. Sam entered the room, prayerfully hoping that her new story idea would just do that.

She was no longer the photography editor, and the loss of status hit her hard, but she could not take the position away from Inga. It wouldn't be fair, and Sam knew she had no leg to stand on insofar as a reason to want the job back. Sam crossed the threshold and sat down in her customary chair without thought. She was a few minutes late, so she was glad to see that her chair had been kept open for her.

See, she thought, the exclusion was all in her head. Sam was hopeful as she smiled at people she knew, who were all lost in conversation with others. The lack of conversation directed her way no longer hurt. She'd come to expect it after the last meeting. It wasn't personal, she just didn't go to school here anymore.

Footsteps rounded the door quickly, and Sam saw Inga, "I got the copies, guys!" The brunette said as she walked across the room, her gait easy and smooth.

With dawning realization, Sam realized that Inga's stuff was at the table where she was sitting. She blushed hotly when Inga looked at her, a sneer and pity co-mingling in her face.

She did not like Sam, Sam realized. Sam wasn't sure what to do, because her dislike had never bothered her before. She'd sat here for years, but now, she realized, no one expected her to sit there.

Greg cleared his throat, and Inga sat down in the only other empty chair in the circle, a plastic chair that was placed just outside the circle. When she moved the chair, no one batted an eyelash at moving over.

Sam was squashed in the corner, and she tried her best not to feel embarrassed. She hadn't thought about these changes or meant to inconvenience anyone.

Then, the meeting started. When story ideas came up, Sam piped up with an idea that she had been toying with. Bree was right about one thing. Alternate Gym was a fascinating place, but not for the reason Bree thought it was. Sam realized that groups mixed and flowed easily in Darton High. Look at her. She had formerly hung out with the rancher's kids, the church kids, Darrell's crazy group of friends, and the newspaper staff, as well as the artsy kids.

All groups had overlap, except Alternate Gym. She wanted to explore how these places and spaces could exist in this school without anyone realizing that they were there. She wanted to use her growth to help people. She wanted to open the social component of alternate gym to anyone, so that the other spaces in the high school would be open to Bree, and Millie, and Simona, and Eric, and everyone else there. She was thinking about doing a photo-essay.

When the floor was opened to new ideas, Sam jumped at the chance to contribute. She opened her notebook to her pages of notes. She'd been working really hard on this idea, and wanted to have a solid proposal. "I think we should do a story about Alternate Gym."

Someone spoke up. Sam realized that she was a sophomore that Sam didn't know well. She was friendly with Ally, though, and Darrell knew her. "What?" Her name was Yvette, Sam remembered after a time.

"Alternate Gym." Sam replied. Suddenly, she was unsure how to describe the place without making it sound like it was a the catch-all for the misfits of the school. "You know." Sam realized that she was blushing. She'd thought everyone knew about alternate gym, but she hadn't, not until she'd ended up there. Everyone should learn from her ignorance and her mistakes, if they could. Sam was glad she had something of worth to share again.

Greg jumped in helpfully. "It's a good idea. A lot of people take that class, and it would be cool to explore various classes. We could do one, like, as part of a series. That way everyone in the school gets a shot to be heard and seen."

The various merits of such a story were discussed. Sam felt her hopes sink when Inga said, "Yeah, but Alternate Gym doesn't even contribute to the school. We should focus on clubs, I think." No one in Alternate Gym was involved in club. Bree had her baby to worry about, Eric said he didn't like people, and people treated Millie poorly as though pregnancy was catching.

Sam wanted to reply that they did contribute. They did. Eric sharpened all of the pencils in the music room, and the cookies were always left behind. She wanted to say that Simona had started the recycling program at school before she'd ended up relegated to the underbelly of the school, as Bree had phrased it. "I really think that..."

Yvette cut Sam off. Sam guessed she hadn't been speaking loudly enough. It was hard to tell anymore. Her tone modulation was off, still. Sometimes, she screamed when she thought she was whispering and vice versa. It was hard to figure out when she wasn't having a one on one conversation. Jen was careful to mirror things for her, and Sam never felt truly stressed by her voice around Jen.

She was glad that Jen would be giving her a ride home, now that her parents had consented to letting her borrow her mom's truck sometimes. Jen would help her feel not so lonely, right? "We'd need someone to do research."

She looked at the girl next to her hopefully. Sam knew her, but was drawing a blank on her name. That hadn't happened in months, but she hadn't seen very many new people yet, so she was trying not to worry about her brain. It was normal to forget some things sometimes, even though it only really happened now when she was stressed.

"Oh!" Sam replied, hopefully, hoping her tone or volume wasn't too off center, "I have notes, and I was thinking we could run them after the winter break, as a way to help people get to know each other."

Yvette replied, "Well. Don't you think everyone knows everyone? Right?" She looked around for support. She found it.

Sam was so incredibly frustrated. She was incredibly angry at these annoying little kids who saw nothing past the noses on their faces. Not everyone knew everyone because people had boundaries. They needed to do what they could to erase some of the assumptions that created those boundaries.

"I think..." Sam began again, trying to put her thoughts into words. She wanted to tell everyone how much this story could change how people saw their high school. They were journalists. They had a duty and an obligation to shed light on things, be a voice for all people, not just the popular and the normal kids.

Inge spoke right over her. Sam realized that she had completely steamrolled her. "What about a story about the obstacle course in gym class?" She looked at Sam, who she had just completely shut down, "Thanks for giving me the idea of looking at specials. Specials are so often invisible, aren't they?"

Sam bit her tongue, unwilling to ruin her reputation and go off on the girl that had replaced her. She'd never much liked her, but now anything she said would look like sour grapes and envy.

Greg spoke up then, "They're only invisible in the face of your blinding self-satisfaction, Inga." The room twittered when Inga missed the insult, and preened as though she had been complimented. Greg shot Sam an apologetic look, and rolled his eyes at Inga. Sam tried not to smile too widely. There was, she realized, some joy in having your perspective ripped away.

Sam tried not to be angry at most people here. You couldn't learn lessons unless your heart and mind were open to them. Sam realized that she would have to make a space for herself again at the paper. It wasn't something she wanted to do or had expected having to do, but she had clawed her way up the ranks once before with hard work and determination, and she knew those things better now than she ever had in the past. Still, when the meeting ended and she was left without an assignment and no one to talk to, Sam felt left out and alone.

She felt like a dog in the rain, staring into the window of the place that had formerly been their home. She could see her former spaces all around her, but like the ghost of the person she'd been before the accident, she could not touch or feel her sense of belonging. Sam left before the bell rang, just as people started talking about a party.

She would never have wanted to go before, and she didn't really want to go now. Selfishly, though, she just wanted to be invited.

_But when I enter the spring of my dreams_

_Just like a wildflower that burst on the scene,_

_Will I find my place with a gentle wind?_

_Tell me, will they let me in?_

_And if a heart's breaking._

_A part of me's aching_

_To show them how much that I care._

_But if no one lets me_

_Or turns and forgets me, then how,_

_How can I share?_

_Let Me In_ , Rigoletto

Sam slid into the music room a few minutes early, unwilling to walk through the halls with all of the other students. It was just too awkward to handle. No one came close to her. There was a bubble around her when she walked in the halls with other people. No one touched her as a matter of course. No one brushed by her, or came into her personal space in the crowded halls. It made her feel so isolated.

The wooden door was no longer scary. As if by rote, Sam took a cookie and sat down. Eric had already started his DS. It was a day like any other around here. Even so, Sam felt uneasy. How was it that she felt more at ease here, amongst these strangers who understood her present circumstances rather than her newspaper colleagues who had known her for years?

Sam looked down at the steno notebook in her hands. Bree noticed her expression, "Feeling oppressed? A little left out? A tiny bit excluded?"

Sam looked up sharply. How did Bree get all of that from her face? Simona raised her coke in agreement. "Aw, you're one of us now!"

Sam didn't understand. Simona wrapped up her sandwich and put the lid on her soda as she spoke. Sam understood that this was going to be a bit of a long-winded moment for Simona, if she was worried about her soda going flat. "It's a natural process. First you get all rational. You say it's in your head." Sam realized that she had done that the last meeting, and even some of this one. She had not trusted her own instincts, even as they had blown up in her face.

"Then, you slowly get angry as hell, either at yourself or your friends. Then you try to make changes, try to plead for things to be different, somehow, so that they can be the same." Sam realized that as Simona spoke, she was describing her perfectly. Sam was hopeful that this was something that would fade.

Simona caught the hope on her face, and shook her head. "They never will be, so you get sad, feel left out and alone."

She looked around the music room and back at Sam after letting enough time to pass for Sam's feet to fall to her feet, "Then, one morning, you wake up, and you realize that, somehow, while all the idiots at the newspaper were excluding you, you found friends in a super cool group of people with better taste in soda." With that, she uncapped the soda to take a long swig, as though she had gone far too long without caffeine. "Don't let the bastards get you down." 

Sam did not know what to make of all of this. Surely, she thought, she could keep her old friends, her old connections, while developing new ones. The Girl Scouts said she could, and she just knew that there had to be a way. Gina turned down her radio, Nirvana no longer playing quite so loudly.

Mille stopped knitting to add, "It's okay to grieve for what you've lost, Sam."

"But I haven't lost anything!" Sam cried. She was gaining new friends, all these people here. She had temporarily lost her spot amongst her peers, but she'd find it again. It was just like learning to jump again without throwing up, or feeling like she was going to fall.

"Denial." Eric piped up as he beat another level. No one laughed, and Eric didn't seem so happy to tell her that. "We've all been there, Sam." Eric, for the first time, really looked up from his DS. "Why do you think I'm so good at the DS?"

Sam was silent, unwilling and unable to say what she was really thinking.

_I'm worse at what I do best and for this gift I feel blessed_

_Our little group has always been and always will until the end_

_Hello, hello, hello, how low? Hello, hello, hello, how low? Hello, hello, hello, how low?_

_Hello, hello, hello!_

_With the lights out, it's less dangerous_

_Here we are now, entertain us_

_I feel stupid and contagious_

_Here we are now, entertain us!_

_Smells like Teen Spirit_ , Nirvana

Jake knew that bringing this up was the right idea. They'd had a good day, together. The ranch was in a good place, his brother wasn't being annoying, and Mom had made raisin bread and was now someplace with Dad talking about chicken feed. They'd been in the kitchen, but they weren't now.

"So." Sam's feet were draped over his lap, and he ran a hand firmly over the bottom of them, wanting her attention.

She was back after being at River Bend all day. He didn't know how she'd swung coming back as the general rule was no more than one successive night here, but Mom had casually mentioned Wyatt's date and Grace's meeting tonight. That was the second date this week.

He and Brynna were getting pretty serious, though Sam kept saying it was nothing to be worried over. Jake wasn't so sure, but at least she wasn't crying herself to sleep over it anymore.

Sam blinked over at him, over the top of her book. "With a needle and thread." Jake grinned. She was mocking him, teasing him, thinking he wanted to read a bit of the book he was reading aloud. It was a holdover from reading most everything out loud. They hadn't gotten out of the habit. She thought nothing of his interruption and went back to reading. Jake prayed that he did not destroy the easy mood between them.

Jake had spent some time thinking, but he knew that his words were clunky as he tried to think of a way to frame this conversation. Jake threw the subject out there, trying and failing miserably at being casual. "So, hippotherapy."

"So not happening." Sam replied. Jake opened his mouth to explain why this was a really, really, fantastic idea, when she snapped, "Just save it. I'm not going to do it." She quickly bookmarked her book and set it on the floor.

"Why not?" Jake asked, putting aside his own book. He tried to hide the cover. Enhancing Human Occupation Through Hippotherapy wasn't going to go over well, not with this kind of reply. He didn't want to add fuel to the fire.

Sam looked over at him mulishly. Jake didn't understand. He thought that this would be great. He was excited about it. It would mean no longer have to jump on that trampoline, give her a place of strength from which to confront things that were challenging. The accident did not have to take away everything. It could give them new tools through which to see the world, like Ella had tried to teach them. She was amazing with horses, and she missed them. This was a way to give her that back, "Why not, Sam?"

"Why should I?" Sam said harshly, "So I be different there, too? So superior little twits who think they're helping me discount what I know because I can't prove it anymore? So they can smile and praise me for walking in a circle and staying in the saddle, all the while knowing that it's meaningless outside their ring?"

Jake was hurt by her words, by the sentiment behind them. He was hurt that she was judging people she didn't even know. That wasn't like her. "I don't think it's fair to call people who want to help 'superior little twits.'" Jake said, feelings hurt. She had obviously thought about this, and her reply was caustic and stubborn. "I don't understand."

"I don't want my riding to be taken away, Jake." She elaborated when she realized that she'd just said something would be taken away when, in fact, it would be coming back to her if she went to the program.

She'd asked him to help her figure out how to ride again, and this was the best way. "I told you once that if I couldn't have it all, then I didn't want any of it. I meant it." Sam declared, "I'm not going to go somewhere where it's all about helping poor, pitiful me ride again, while all the while they know that I'll never be as good as them, again, never belong again."

She looked at him eyes blazing, "If I admit that I need that help, then I will never belong, never be seen as normal, again. I'll always be a disabled rider, always be someone who doesn't quite fit the mold."

"What mold?" Jake replied, standing up and trying not to pace as he tried to understand her words about labels and not fitting in and her body and other people and who knew what else. He could not look at the anger and pain in her eyes as she sat up and scooted away as though she was repulsed. "It's a tool, Sam, not a rubber stamp on your forehead. Nobody would know, if that's what you're..."

Sam cut him off quickly, not even letting him finish. This was not how he pictured this conversation going. "I don't want sidewalkers, people telling me things and sucking the one joy I have to look forward to out of life and making it different." Her tone was resolute and her gaze was fiery as she insisted, "I don't want to accept this disability, and I don't want to be an outsider, and I won't be one in this."

Jake floundered, not at all understanding how she could be an outsider. She wasn't. She was completely central to this whole idea. It would be her connecting again with something she loved, her gaining in strength and facing challenges in a way that was deeply meaningful for her. It was personal, about her, and there she was stereotyping and pigeonholing people.

She had always hated that before the accident. Jake realized that she wasn't talking about other people as being wrong or different. She was using them as a standard of normal and finding herself to be different. She was internalizing ableist crap about her body. She was embracing things that she would never allow another person to say about themselves.

What was going on in her head? What in God's name was she thinking and feeling about herself? What had happened today? All afternoon, since Jen had gone home after dinner, she had been far too quiet. He'd enjoyed it, basked in the quiet contemplation after she'd talked a mile a minute with Jen, even as he'd been so excited to break it with this idea of a way to help her get riding again.

"You're being ableist." She was being ableist towards herself, and it hurt.

Sam recoiled as though he'd slapped her across the face. "So are you." She looked down and saw the title of his book.

With an angry, mottled, expression, she left the room. Jake heard the screen door slam and her feet against the porch.

The bang echoed in his mind as the TV volume in the other room went up even more than it had over the last few minutes. Quinn probably thought he was being respectful, but it still sat poorly with him.

Jake threw the book at the wall. "Fuck!" The ends did not justify the means, it seemed, though for the life of him he could not understand why.

_God, I feel like hell tonight_

_Tears of rage I cannot fight_

_I'd be the last to help you understand_

_Are you strong enough to be my man, my man?_

_Nothing's true and nothing's right, so let me be alone tonight_

_Cause you can't change the way I am_

_Are you strong enough to be my man?_

_I have a face I cannot show_

_I make the rules up as I go_

_Just try and love me if you can_

_Are you strong enough to be my man, my man?_

_Strong Enough_ , Sheryl Crow

Sam tramped down to the swing, her blood boiling. She was so angry that she wanted to scream. She nearly toppled over as her bottom found the swing and she kicked a clod of dirt away from underneath the seat. She could not believe him!

She just could not find the words. He knew better than anyone what things were sacrosanct. Was she that bad at grooming her horses that he thought she needed modified this and adapted that? She was trying with the knots, really trying. She didn't want that, because the second she went to one of those programs, she would never be seen the same way again, not by Dad, not by her friends, not by anybody, and especially not by herself.

Simona was right. She was one of them now, whoever they were. She was disabled, in the societal way. She had crossed over into a new category, in her mind, in the world, somehow. Even her best friend thought that she was different, that she would never be normal, that she couldn't cut it like other people could. He saw her as different, right down to the way he touched her in the mornings, in their most private of moments.

Sam gripped the rope handles so tightly she almost screamed as the rope dug into her hands. How could he so much as suggest that she wasn't herself in one area in which she wanted to be, and never would be? She knew all too well that her words would be hurtful to some, to people who really did believe that riding should be open to all people, as she did.

She knew that there should be more adapted riding programs, and she believed in equality and justice. She knew that they had the best of intentions. She wasn't concerned with their feelings, not when she couldn't even understand her own.

She just knew that the whole system of making her riding into a therapy felt oppressive, kind of like going to a place where there were no front access by a ramp, so they let her come in the back door and acted like it was just the same. It wasn't.

She was a damn good rider, or she had been. She wasn't meant to ride in rings like some pleasure rider who didn't even know how to saddle their own mount. She was a rancher's daughter, for heaven's sake. She rode the range, not rings. She herded cattle and got carried away by the wind.

That was riding. Anything else was a pale imitation, and she wasn't willing to settle, wasn't willing to tell herself to be happy with some adapted program run by people who saw only the wheelchair and not the rider she had been. She would never go someplace that was predicated on her being a different kind of rider. At one point, she'd been just as good at riding as the idiot boy tramping down towards her. "

Go away!" She yelled. She hadn't meant to yell, because Max and Luke were standing near the coop.

She could see them trying to hide their interest. She was always under a microscope. She had not been able to modulate her tone and her volume.

She still had a voice, still had rights. She would ride her own horses on her own terms, just see if she didn't do it. She didn't need him to do it. If he didn't like it, he could take a hike. He kept walking as though he hadn't heard her. Sam knew he had by the set of his shoulders and the fact that her voice was still ringing in her ears. He couldn't get away with calling her oppressive when he didn't get what it was to be oppressed.

He had a dozen horses at his disposal, and could just go riding whenever he felt like it. Their situations were nothing alike. She wished he would go riding now. That way, he could lord his books and his knowing over her from afar, instead of in the burning gaze that was staring her down intently. "No."

Sam stopped trying to turn the swing away when one hand reached out and brought her center. It was fine, anyway. Her head was spinning from the simple action. "I don't need you to tell me I'm different. I don't need you to tell me that no matter what I do, I will never be the same. I don't need you to throw your privilege in my face."

"My privilege?" He said, staring down at her intently in the fading light. He did not like that, she knew.

"Yes." She explained, unable to look away, "You will always have the ability to be seen as normal no matter where you go." She let the words sink as she reached up and placed her hands around Jake's.

He needed to stay, needed to hear this, "You know if I go to one of those barns, those programs, I'm not going to be Sam the girl who kicked your stupid behind on more races than I care to count. They won't see that. They won't see me, because I won't matter there. The disability matters, just like it matters to the doctors and the therapists and the shrinks and the lab technicians and everyone I meet. I'm going to be the girl that can't keep her seat, the one who can't be trusted around someone else's horses."

Jake swallowed, like he always did when he was confused. She had foolishly thought that he didn't see this injury as part of her. It hurt that he saw her as something different, someone to be fixed. "Forgive me if I see it differently. It wouldn't affect your identity to ride in a program like that, but it would tear away the last hope I ever have of..." Sam trailed off, aware that her words were coming out disjointedly and far too quickly.

"You would pick jumping on that trampoline over sitting on a horse?" Jake asked for clarification amidst the sounds of the fading day.

She nodded. The trampoline didn't matter one bit. Riding mattered. Her horses mattered. Her whole future, the whole future of her ranch rested on her ability to ride and ride in the way that she always had. "Maybe I'm an idiot, but I'd rather have hope. I'd like to dream about riding here, like I always did, and not the reality of turning something that matters into a tool for some well meaning therapist to exploit as an exercise and not a relationship."

"Scoot over." Jake demanded softly.

Sam did, and he sat down quickly, sending the swing backwards in reaction. He took her hand, and Sam let him do it. She wasn't really angry at him. She just wanted him to understand, wanted him to see what she saw. She didn't want to face this alone. She felt alone and she hated feeling alone when he was right next to her.

None of this was about other people. It was about her.

They were quiet for a time. Sam was lost in thought. She felt bad about saying those things about the people who helped at riding programs, she did. Jen volunteered at one, and Sam didn't truly feel that way about the programs for other people.

But for her, and only for her, it was impossible. She knew that she was too prideful.

She would never cede control to someone else. She would never allow herself to look a fool in front of people who did not know what she had once been. "I'm sure a program would be best, but don't you see? I can't. I just can't."

Jake looked over at her sharply, and Sam inhaled. "Because..." Jake summarized, "Because those people, whoever they are, don't know you, and you aren't willing to give them a shot to prove you wrong."

Sam faltered, unwilling to agree to that, even though it was honestly true. She wasn't willing to give it a shot. She saw what she saw, and she wanted what she wanted, and she could not do that to herself, to Ace, to Kitty. She wasn't sorry. It wasn't right for her, and she wasn't going to be passive and just let him make this call.

It might be there for her to choose, but that choice wasn't right in her soul. "I don't care what that makes me. They can't have my art, and they can't have my horses." They couldn't have him, either, but she wasn't going to tell Jake that. Somehow, she figured he knew that.

Except. They did. This system had him, had them both. Their intimates were often related to her progress. Normally, she liked it, liked him to touch her under any pretext. He knew her body as well as she knew his, and the fact that he helped her to stretch had seemed natural. It suddenly occurred to her that they touched a lot and most of those touches could be observed as therapeutic even when she didn't think they were.

Oh, God, her mind was spinning. Even now, Jake was running his hand along her back. She could feel him pause infinitesimally over the vertebrate, over the contours of her muscles, as he drew shapes she could not decipher. "Why do you do that?"

Jake raised an eyebrow, not following. She pressed into the touch, and Jake's voice was potent in her ear, "Mostly because it's an excuse to touch you when we've got an audience, Brat." There was laughter in his voice, and she realized that he'd been trying to distract her.

One finger went up, and out, and down and in, and up and out and down back to the starting point, slowly, exaggerating his earlier movements. Jake was drawing hearts on her back with his fingers, like a lovesick schoolgirl. Her heart melted.

Max and Luke were clearly still watching. "Listen, okay? There is nothing wrong with you, except that you ran. You know better." Sam did know that they had long ago agreed how they were going to face each other when they disagreed. She just hadn't wanted to face herself. It had nothing to do with him. "Whatever you're telling yourself is bull, Sam. You're not an outsider."

Sam did not correct him. She wasn't an outsider to him, and he couldn't see her like everyone else saw her. He just couldn't, and she didn't have the heart to make him do it, tell him about how people acted now because part of her wondered if his own perceptions would shift.

What he knew of it was enough. She was just glad that they could yell and say honest things, even if they were wrong and hurtful, and not fight about it. None of this was personal, not really. It wasn't her against him, or him trying to make her do something. It was him doing what he always had done in supporting her through trying to understand her, but now they were in the middle of all of this that no one could understand, not even her. "Do you think I'm disabled?"

Jake understood everything then. She saw it in his eyes, saw his understanding dawn and his compassion stir. "Do you think you are?" He asked, reflecting the question back upon her.

She didn't know. She had hope that her body would heal, but she also knew that her mind and her worldview had been shifted no matter what happened physically. She would never again take so many things for granted. Maybe a disability was both internal and external. Who knew about all of that? She didn't. She just didn't know. She just knew that she was different, and it was tough to handle. "You must have an opinion. You know..."

Jake spoke then, a quiet seriousness in his voice, "I know that when you wake up, you don't speak for 94 seconds no matter what's going on, and I know I'm jealous because I don't get to hear those thoughts. I know that I was born to love you, to figure this world out with you, and I know that it doesn't scare me anymore. I know you're more normal than 99% of the people in this world, but I also know that I'm pretty well screwed up. I figure that not much else matters. Who cares about anything else?"

Sam just stared at him as he finished. He wanted to hear her prayers. Mostly, they were just observations starting with, some awareness of it being too early, but they always ended when she looked at him and thought, "Thank you." She would never say that out loud, though. His ego was big enough.

To hear him speak, he was rattling off the basic facts of the world, like these were things she should never doubt, should always somehow know. There was nothing in his tone that sought to impress her, or she should be so lucky, seduce her.

He made a point, though. Facts and interpretation could not be separated. He smiled, after a second, and Sam was dying to know what he was thinking. He might think he was screwed up, but his flaws made him special, made his strengths so much more. His flaws made him who he was, made him the person she knew and loved.

"The word you use doesn't matter, Sam. I've been thinking about it, and what matters is the meaning we give the words we use, not what others take out of them. They take meaning based on their experiences." Jake said confidently, as though he was working out some personal issue she didn't know he was having. "You're you."

Sam realized then, that either she could trust her perceptions all of the time, or she she could question them all of the time. She was tired of not admitting that the way she experienced the world had changed. She had long ago admitted, her mind corrected, but now she needed to accept it, grow from it. If she questioned everything, she would be questioning everything, like her love for Jake, her love for her family, and the rightness she felt when staring in the direction of her land. Those things were not up for discussion.

Thereby, she knew what she had to do. She was going to trust herself, and hold her ground that a program wasn't right for her, no matter why it might be so. She wanted it to be right for her, just like she wanted to like blueberry yogurt again. She couldn't force something that wasn't right to her, no matter why it sounded right. "Yeah." She leaned into him, and put everything out there in a single word, "So..."

Jake nodded, "Yeah." Sam sighed, the matter settled for now. The morning would come tomorrow, and she knew that Jake would keep his word, keep his promise. They would figure out riding on their own terms, figure out how to make their world better for each other amidst their own shortcomings. That was love, after all. "Want to talk about it?"

Sam shook her head. She didn't have the words. She said the only thing she knew for sure. "I now hate blueberry yogurt, and I love you. Life's funny like that, huh?" Jake grinned and moved the swing slowly, back and forth under the branches of the tree. Sam sat on the swing as it moved back and forth gently, staring at the skyline.

How many times had she and Jake sat here, just like this, over the course of the last two decades? Sam sighed, and let the sensations wash over her skin, a prickle of awareness that almost felt like deja vu. Sam felt three fingers press gently into her back as they created a phrase upon her skin.

_Pinky. Pointer. Thumb. I Love You._

Her nerve endings danced, and instead of rationalizing it, or downplaying the sensation, she let it flow. Sam felt a weight lift away as she decided that trusting herself was the right thing to do, even when it made no logical sense. She felt what she felt, she was whoever she was, and accepting those facts was enough.

_I'm no poet and I know it, I don't use five dollar words_

_This might not sound like much compared to all the pretty things you've heard_

_But here's how I'd explain it, since you brought it up_

_It won't sound like anybody else's version of love_

_It's like just before dark, jump in the car,_

_Buy an ice cream and see how far we can drive before it melts kind of feelin'_

_There's a cow in the road, and you swerve to the left_

_Fate skips a beat and it scares you to death_

_And you laugh until you cry_

_That's how your love makes me feel inside_

_That's How Your Love Makes Me Feel Inside_ , Diamond Rio


	23. Hand in My Pocket

_His eyes are cold and restless_  
His wounds have almost healed  
And she'd give half of Texas just to change the way he feels  
She knows his love's in Tulsa and she knows he's gonna go  
Well it ain't no woman flesh and blood  
It's that damned old rodeo

 _Rodeo,_ Garth Brooks

Sam should have realized that getting back in the saddle wouldn't be as simple as putting her foot in the stirrup and parking her bottom between the seat rise and the cantle. She could barely stand riding in the car. How was she going to feel, up on one of her horses? How was she going to do this? 

Sam didn't know, but here she was, exiting the waiting room of one of Dr. Francis' cronies. He'd insisted she be checked out before she was even allowed near a saddle, once she mentioned it in her update email. Doctors should not be allowed near emails. The man should be saving lives, not hounding her online. She tried to ignore him, but the man would not be swayed. 

Sam did not inform the man that she had been doing work in the barn since the second she set foot on her land. She had lied both to him and to her family and done more than she was allowed, but she could not bring herself to even regret it. She would never regret doing what she needed to do. Rules like those couldn't apply to her. She didn't live a restful life. 

Rules were meant to be broken, but not these rules. She looked at the paper in her hand, and saw the bold print upon it that proclaimed all of the risks and symptoms to which she should be paying attention. Sam swallowed, and folded the paper quickly, shoving it under her thigh on the seat. It pressed down into the seat, and the paper was harsh even though her jeans. 

Dr. Sinclair wasn't her neurologist, even if she did work with Dr. Francis. The woman could pound sand. She'd never even so much been around a horse. That much was clear as she lectured Sam on safe horsemanship, using the kind of absolutes that only came from a book. Dr. Sinclair didn't know horses, no, that much was clear. 

Sam grinned as she wove through the hallway. Dr. Sinclair watched the remake of  _True Grit,_  and suddenly, she's Nan Aspinwall.

Sam made her way through check out and folded her next appointment slip and shoved it to join the list just as Gram stood up. Sam wasn't eager to come back in a few weeks, but she would come. Gram would likely bring her again.

She had been a bit let down that Sam had made it very clear that she didn't want or need her to come back to the appointment. Sam hadn't said that she was only doing it so that she wouldn't have gotten caught in a lie. Luckily, she didn't have to lie. 

Sam had been planning to tell everybody that she had been given permission to ride, no matter what had happen. Oh, sure, she would have taken it much slower had she not gotten permission, but she would have lied, lied all the same, and not spent a second worrying on it. What that said about her, she did not care. There were things that were not going to stand in her way, and if she had to put herself at risk a little, well, it didn't signify. She only knew that she would not have ridden if the doctor or she had thought it would put the horses in danger. It was her choice if she wanted to risk herself, but she'd never risk the horses. 

 "How'd it go?" Gram asked, as Sam drew near to her.

Gram was a bit put off that Sam hadn't exactly invited her to sit in on her appointment. She was used to handling these appointments alone, and she didn't want to burden Gram. This wasn't Gram's area of expertise, or one she was even comfortable in. She did not like doctor's offices. Neither did Sam, but Sam had too much exposure to them to even allow herself to think that way.

Sam replied, "I'll talk outside." Nodding in understanding, Gram rose, and they left the office.

The late summer was giving way to early fall. Fall was well and truly winning the battle of the seasons. No matter the weather, the sun felt weaker, and the light was different than it had been just weeks, and even days, ago.

"It's fine. I can...start riding." Sam put it that way, rather than telling Gram about other information she'd been given. Sam wasn't going to go into details. She was cleared to get in the saddle, and that was pretty much all. She wasn't going to tell Gram that her sensory integration issues were bothering her. She wasn't going to tell Gram anything, because there was nothing anyone could do, and it didn't stand to reason that whining any would help her. 

"Oh?" Gram sounded surprised, and Sam hated that she may very well be surprised.

Sam wondered if she'd gotten it because she told Dr. Sinclair that she was going to do as she pleased, no matter what she was told. Dr. Sinclair's hackles had been raised, but Sam liked to think that it wasn't the first time she had been the gatekeeper between really living and waiting to die. Sam had only put it that way because she wanted the doctor to know that she wasn't going to give up, and she needed a plan, which she now had because she had made it clear to the doctor that she would be going her own way, with or without medical advice. 

Sam shoved the paper into her bag, which was suspended from the back of the push bars on the chair so that she wouldn't lose them, or worse yet, allow anyone else to see them.

 "Yeah." Sam didn't know what to say, really. She hadn't gotten the news she wanted, but the outcome was the same, so she tried not to be too disappointed. "Where to, next?" Sam wanted to put the appointment behind her. They had a few hours before she had to come back for bloodwork, and they were a few hours from home.

Gram's eyes took on a happy sparkle. "Well, now, I have a 25% off coupon from the fabric store." Sam's muscles tightened slightly in excitement. Sam couldn't control the tensity. She knew Gram noticed it. It wasn't normal to go tense like that, to draw inward when experiencing an emotion. Sam forced herself to relax, though most of it happened naturally. It was annoying. 

Sam knew it would be nice to look at things, even if she could not purchase anything. She was not in financial trouble, exactly. She just didn't have any money for extra items, like fabric and paints. 

When they were back at the van, Sam stood. Gram popped the trunk, and Sam did her level best to do this herself. The back seats of the van were folded down and so there was a space for her chair. Dad had put it in there this morning, and it was simple enough to pull it out because of gravity. Sam did not want to break it down because it took time to pop back together.

However, she knew that she could not lift it if it was in one piece. She gripped the armrest of the chair to lean down and take off the seat cushion, but Gram stopped her. "I've got it. You go on and get out your mounting block."

Sam did as she was told, because while she could thumb her nose at her father without much emotional upset, it was nearly impossible to disobey her Gram, no matter how nicely she issued a command.

Sam did not say that she wished her Gram did not have to do this for her. The chair was light enough, but cumbersome, and Gram was older, anyhow. She should not be doing the heavy lifting, or the hard work. Sam felt lazy, even though she knew she was trying her best.

Her best just wasn't enough. 

She knew she could have gotten the chair in the van, given some time and enough effort, even though she didn't move the chair around too often. Jake huffed and puffed when she did, and there was little cause to do it in on the ranch, mostly because she'd started finding hooks in lower places and things on shelves that had been suspiciously raised and lowered.

This morning, she'd been putting in the orders for various items, and had found that somebody had marked down a request for smaller bottles of things they regularly ordered in gallon sized bottles. They'd done that for her, and she'd nearly dropped the phone as she'd spoken to the clerk.

He did not comment on their change to the regular order, but Sam understood it was for her, so that she didn't have to pour liquids into unlabeled bottles or struggle with a gallon sized bucket that she had to lift from her lap.

Sam had considered changing the order back, but she did not have that power, no matter even if she knew that the order had been changed for her. 

Sam pulled the green step out of the van, and brushed some bit of straw off it as she straighten up, put her right foot up on it, and carefully turned around, using the door for support, and sat on the seat. She pivoted around so that she was no longer sitting sideways on the seat, and leaned out of the door, using her right hand to fumble around and pull the lightweight step onto her lap. Her skirt bunched up as she did it, and Sam nearly startled as the unlined fabric shifted against her skin.

She ignored the prickle on the top of her thighs as she folded up the step stool, as her brain centered herself. She leaned down over the side of the car, and grabbed the step with her hand. She yanked hard to sit back up, and brought the step with her. It folded easily, though not before leaving some dirt on her skirt.

Sam exhaled carefully. Hanging out of the van was a rush.

"You should really put on your belt before you lean out of the van like that." Gram advised. 

"No." Sam explained as Gram drove away from the doctor's office, "The belt could injure someone worse than falling might. That's why wheelchairs don't have seatbelts, sometimes, or they have ones that you can get out of quickly." Gram seemed to digest that information as they drove along.

Gram looked at her, a knowing expression on her face. She didn't even speak her directive this time. 

Sam pulled the belt back around to her front so that it wasn't tucked behind her illegally. After it pressed into her skin for a few seconds, she lifted it away from where it pushed out over what was left of her chest. She pinched the heavy material between two fingers as she loosened the belt. The belt wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but she let it stay, however grudgingly. 

Gram smiled in thanks. Sam tried not to focus on the awful sensation the belt caused on her skin. 

 

Thankfully, they were soon inside the store, though Sam missed the pressure of the seatbelt when inundated with florescent lighting and the tinny music of the large fabric store that existed for people to congregate in and indulge their art.

_Holes in my confidence, holes in the knees of my jeans,_

_I was left without a penny in my pocket_

_Oo-oowee, I was about as destituted as a kid could be_

_and I wished I wore a ring so I could hock it_

_I'd like to hock it_

_Duncan_ , Paul Simon

Gram pushed her towards the kitchen grade cheesecloth, and began to feel bolts between her fingers, judging each fabric for projects and uses that no amount of book learning could prepare her for. Sam knew that she would never be quite as innately skilled at Gram in areas of domesticity, though Gram had done her level best to try and prepare Sam for the realities of life, which, according to Gram, included making everything in your house, from the food to the blankets to the clothes to the seed starters.

Gram had a knack for it, one that Sam did not. Sam knew that she never would. "Why do you always look at the cheesecloth if you never buy it?"

Gram pulled a bolt of muslin from the shelf, and checked the weave, "Muslin is more sustainable, cheaper, and does exactly the same things as cheesecloth if you get the right weave." Gram passed her a bolt, "Hold this, please. I'll push."

With that, Gram took the push handles and Sam began the process that would dominate her afternoon, that of holding a growing stack of bolts of fabric across her lap.

Two kinds of muslin were soon joined by some clothing fabric, and some quilting odds and ends that Gram found on the discount aisle. 

Sam nearly asked her to stop so she could look at clothing fabric. She wanted to modify some of her skirts and put in pockets, but she didn't have the money, frankly, to buy new fabric when she had a whole stash of fabric to dig through. She had enough, but she couldn't justify wasteful spending.

Gram slowly pushed her around the store. As she lingered over a lovely silk that she would never buy, Gram asked, "How do you really feel about Jake's plans?

Sam gripped the pile in her lap, and felt the bolts of fabric press into the denim of her skirt. She should have never worn this today. Her thighs were going to look like fabric by the time she was done.

Sam replied honestly, knowing that Gram was really just trying to make conversation now that Dad wasn't around. He'd been on edge the last few days, and Jake revealed that he'd once again turned down working at River Bend. She didn't quite have the guts to bring up Jake's name around Dad, and Gram understood. Jake had informed everyone now that Ballard knew and things were squared away, but that didn't mean that things were easy between everyone in the family.

"I'm proud of him. I don't know how he's going to do it, but he will." Jake was the sort that when he wanted something, he went at it full tilt, with nothing but that goal in mind. He never set aside an ambition because he gave up. He never held back when he really wanted something in his life. It was impossible for her to not believe that he would meet whatever goal he set his mind to achieving. Anyone who got in his way was a fool. 

Gram patted her shoulder, "He will. You got more mail from the Art School this morning, by the way. I put it on your desk."

Sam was excited to open it. She wanted very much to go to art school. She wasn't sure how her injury was going to impact that but she wanted to further her art, even though she hadn't done much in the way of art recently. "Oh, look!" Gram spoke before Sam could reply.

Sam turned her head as her vision readjusted to the view and the florescent lighting. "That's a good sale." Sam acknowledged the embroidery floss with a quick smile. She had never been very interested in embroidery, even though she knew how to do it. One of her last projects had been undertaken because Gram insisted she take it up. It was a life skill, Gram said. 

Gram was studying the wooden hoops on the rack critically. "Have you thought about taking it up more seriously?" She seemed to be studying the hoops as though they would reveal the secrets of the universe. "You could do it with one hand if you set it up right."

She grabbed a pattern off of the sale rack, and plopped it on top of the pile. "You should try this one." Sam looked at the pattern that was on the middle of the pile that reached up to the higher portion of her rib cage. It was an iron-on transfer that boasted a lot of wording, which she had never been very good at, even before the accident.

Sam opened her mouth, but Gram cut her off as they moved along, "Now, I don't want to hear a word about it. You deserve to get a little something."

Gram did not say that ten months ago, she would have filled a cart to the brim and spent hours pouring over what to buy and what to put back. Sam hoped that she had 6.86 in her side of the bank account. She had no job, and thusly, no money, but she wasn't about to tell Gram that if things didn't change, she was going to have to dip into her school fund.

She didn't want to do that, by the cell phone was going to be due in a few days, and soon, she would have no other choice. She could not ask Dad to pay it, not even if she was recovering. A girl had to have her pride, and she had never, not once she started working, asked him for money. She wouldn't do it. She would rather the phone shut off.

"Gram, I should be saving..." Sam said, trying to be diplomatic. Being in here and having zero money to spend on art supplies was tough, and it was compounded by a general feeling of unease.

She had severely neglected her art. She had neglected her art because she had nothing left to give it, not money, not talent, not time, not insight. It hurt, and it made her angry. Sam's voice grew tight, "Maybe we should finish up."

Gram paused in the middle of the aisle, and Sam hoped that no one came up behind them. Gram was spending far too much time looking at paintbrushes. Gram didn't even paint. They were so lovely and pretty, there for the selecting, just waiting to change the world. "Do you feel okay, Sammy? You haven't so much as mentioned the canvases. I'd be glad to walk that way. You just speak up."

"Gram." Sam replied softly, as she caught on to what Gram was doing. This trip wasn't about getting more muslin. It wasn't even about the quilting fabric on her lap. Gram felt badly about her situation and was trying to make the whole day a nice experience for her. It was really very kind, and in keeping with her Gram's spirit. "I'm fine. The doctor was fine. You don't have to..." Sam floundered, as she flushed terribly. "Going to the doctor's isn't a big deal."

Gram sighed, and they finished up shopping pretty quickly. Gram bought her supplies for the quilts she was working on, and a few other things like her muslin. She insisted on paying for the pattern that she'd picked for Sam, which made Sam's lungs unfreeze. She hadn't wanted to explain that she just couldn't afford any extra purchases.

They still had a bit of time before Sam could go and get her bloodwork done, so they ended up sitting in the tiny cafe next to the craft store. Sam ordered a veggie burger, and Gram had her usual bowl of soup.

Sam smiled at her Grandmother's consistency.

Sam leaned a bit against the table, but she was glad to be sitting in the booth. She blended here. The waitress had pretty much ignored her like she would any other customer, and it was great. "I wish I had a job." Sam said, almost surprising herself with the words. She bit into an orange slice that came with her burger, and felt the spray of juice as it broke over her skin. She wiped her chin quickly.

Gram let go of her straw and gently chided her, "Honey, you have a job. Your father's always been glad of your help, and Trudy always has a spot for you." Sam wasn't cleared to go back to working with the horses at Trudy's. She knew better than to even ask the doctor about that possibility. She had an audience of no less than six people when she visited with her extremely trained, extremely trustworthy horses. She could not work with the injured and abused cases that were so prolific at Trudy's rescue. It would not be fair to the horses, or to Trudy.

"Yeah, but Dad doesn't pay." Sam replied, trying to keep a light expression under the dawning awareness that she could not pay her cell phone bill. It was a tracfone so it didn't exactly matter overmuch, but it mattered to her. She had never before been unable to meet her obligations. 

Gram studied Sam carefully. Realization crested in her kindly blue eyes. Sam looked away. It wasn't hard to put the facts together and come up with the idea that Sam was flat broke. 

She liked being independent, liked having her own money. "I don't want his money, I just miss making my own money." She didn't want Dad to pay her. Getting money from River Bend was like the owner of a restaurant taking tips. She benefited from River Bend, and taking the money off of the books that would otherwise pay for things like food and heat seemed counterintuitive. Every penny not spent meant that the ranch would thrive.

Gram was sympathetic."You have more important things going on. Working has always been second to school, you know that. Is there something you need?" Gram made the offer before Sam had even the chance to ask.

Even though Sam really wanted to explain about her phone bill, and the insurance for her car, and the woefully slim amount of money in her checking account, she held her peace. "I'm okay."

Sam realized that she could not run crying to Gram over her monetary issues, not after years of being as independent as she knew how to be, even though she did not really have all the adult bills to pay. It wasn't like she paid for the upkeep of the house, or anything, just extras. She had figured out life in San Francisco for months, and she could do it here. Prices had been astronomical there. Just because Gram wanted to help her didn't mean she had to take her up on the offer. Gram did not appear to be convinced.

Sam repeated, "Really. It's all good."

_I can change the world with my own two hands_

_Make a better place with my own two hands_

_Make a kinder place with my own two hands_

_I can make peace on earth with my own two hands_

_And I can clean up the earth, oh- with my own two hands_

_And I can reach out to you, oh- with my own two hands_

_With my Own Two Han_ ds, Ben Harper

 

It wasn't, though. Good, that is. It wasn't good until a few hours later.

Jen called when she got off the bus. Sam was in her office, working through a math lesson. Her mind kept going back to money, and what on earth she was going to do. "Sam?" Jen prompted, though the speakerphone in the closed room.

Sam found that the speakerphone was better than holding the receiver up to her ear. She didn't like the plastic next to her skin for so long, and holding her arm like was something of a chore. Jen broke in again, "Did you hear me?"

"Sorry." Sam apologized, genuinely apologetic for not listening. She answered Jen's next question before she had a chance to ask it. She had to tell Jen. Jen would know what to do, how to fix this. Jen knew that the papers she was staring at, papers that rested on the desk before an open browser that displayed the online banking information. The picture was more dismal than she had known. 

"The doctor said I might not drive again." Sam finished, trying to tell Jen that Dr. Sinclair had pretty much said that it was going to be an impossibility for months yet, if ever. Sam did not know how to explain what had been said. It amounted to the knowledge that driving may never be possible on a regular basis. She may be able to drive short distances under good conditions, but driving at night or during bad weather was almost certainly never going to happen, according to the doctor.

Sam was going to prove them wrong, but she knew now was not the time.

"Ever?" Jen said, knowing how much she loved to drive. Sam loved to roll the windows down and coast along the highway, the small rises and dips of the desert leading her into the great unknown. It was a stress release valve that she valued. "Well, hey!" Jen added, forcing herself to become more chipper. "I'll be your chauffeur."

"Thanks, Jen." Sam said, clicking her pen and looking down at the list of her financial woes. She desperately needed money. Still, it was apparent that focusing on the good, like having an awesome Jen in her life, was more important.

She wasn't going to add dependence on her friend to her list of troubles. She knew Jen meant it, but she'd never take advantage of that fact. 

"No, no, I mean it!" Jen replied, "My parents said I can buy something! I've got the money saved up from working, and Dad said he would give me a bit on loan." She heard Jen's own concerns. Sam knew that there wasn't much extra to go around in Jen's family.

Suddenly, Sam knew that she had to use her own misery to help her friend. Sam wondered if Jen would go for the idea. It was perfect, really. "Hey, do you want to take a lovely, slightly used Focus?" Sam said, talking up her own car.

It was more than slightly used, but she'd taken care of it. Dad insisted she know how to manage her own car, and Jake changed oil and checked brakes. She really didn't do any of that stuff, because he did it before she could get to it. Sometimes, it was nice not to think about the car. Selling it would be a good way to not think about it, and to make sure the car had a good home. And anyway, Jen wouldn't mind if she still sat in the car sometimes.

"Sam, you don't have to do that." Jen said. Sam could hear the blush that was overtaking her pale face. "It's nice of you, but I don't want to take your car from you."

Everyone knew how much she loved her car. If anyone said a cross word about her, Sam gave them what for. She and her car were a team. 

"You wouldn't be, though." Sam implored. She knew that Jen wouldn't take it outright. She wouldn't. Sam hadn't planned on charging her a dime for it, but she knew that Jen's pride demanded something. Sam thought for a second."How about this, then: How about you buy it from me until I'm good to go, and we can find you something else?" Making haste to make the deal stick, "It'll save you and me money in the long run. Rent."

Jen was persuaded after a bit of talking. Selfishly, Sam wanted Jen to have the car. It wouldn't bother Jen if she checked on it, sometimes, or sat in it once and a while. It wouldn't matter to Jen, but it mattered to Sam.

Sam could no longer afford the car now that she wasn't working. Dad gave his permission when he popped his head into her office, as she was on the phone with Jen. It was good timing for all that Sam knew that he was surprised. Sam did not tell him that she could no longer afford the car. She ended the call with Jen, having agreed upon a small token of a price and Dad's promise that he and Jed would work out the paperwork.

Sam knew that pretty much all she would have to do was hand over the paperwork she had with a bill of sale, and clean out the car.

She felt relief. It was dizzying in its intensity. She had made an adult choice to sell the car without wallowing in how unfair it was that it had to go. It was unfair that she couldn't have her cake and eat it, too, but such was life.

She had to focus. She had to be a big girl. The car going to Jen was the best option.

Jen would take care of her baby, and Sam had no worries that it was in good hands. She even felt good that she was helping her friend in this way. She had something to give the world, something to give and share with Jen.

Sam crossed out a huge payment for insurance from her to-pay list, and found that with a little scrimping, she would be able to make it. She felt empowered as she went to clean out the car.

Sam  left the door to her office open. She swung by the feed room and stared at the shelves. After a second, she saw an empty box on the table. It had been left sitting there. It was J.J.'s handiwork in not finding a use for it, or putting it away, but Sam knew that no one else was around to need it. She pulled it off of the table, and balanced it on her lap as she wheeled out to where the car was parked.

Sam looked at her grey Focus. It wasn't much. It certainly wasn't the truck she had always asserted that she needed. It was little more than a puddle hopper. It got her to school and back, had survived a few road trips, and had been witness to far too many conversations and bad singing. It had a bit of cosmetic wear, surely, but it was a darn good car. 

It deserved more, more than just being parked here and moved occasionally so that the gas wouldn't stick in the lines and it wouldn't sink into the ground. It still had life in it, a life that Sam could not share with it, anymore. It deserved more. She had to be strong and do this for the car. 

She parked the wheelchair and put the crate on the passenger seat. She began to toss everything in the the car into the crate. This part was hard, made Sam feel like there was a lead weight in her gut, even as her legs felt like they were filled with helium. She found a curry comb, some random treats, and a few granola bars in the glovebox, along with hair ties and a half-opened band-aid. She pulled down all of her CDs and resisted the urge to turn on the car and blast the radio.

She wasn't losing the car. She wasn't. Still, Sam felt a deep attachment to what she knew logically to be an object. She hoped the car knew that she loved it, was doing the best thing she knew how to do with whatever she had. It just wasn't enough. 

_Papa can you find me in the night?_

_Papa are you near me? Papa, can you hear me?_

_Papa, can you help me not be frightened?_

_Papa, please forgive me. Try to understand me;_

_Papa, don't you know I had no choice?_

_Papa, how I need you. Papa, how I miss you._

_Papa, Can You Hear Me?_  Barbra Streisand

Still, she was awash in memories as she cleaned out the car.  She thought about all the times she and Jen had gone places, done things, because she was the friend with the car. She thought about gossip and laughter and deep discussions that they never would have had anywhere.

She thought about all the times this car had felt like freedom, like joy. Soon, the crate was full of things that she'd just had to have in the glove box, in the consul, under the seats. They were things she hadn't thought of in ages, but they were things that mattered so much.

There was a flyer from a concert she and Jen had gone to, one time, and a few reward points from a shop when she'd tried and failed to win a giveaway. She found a $10 gift card. When she quickly called the number on the back, she found that it was expired.

She moved to the trunk, and cleaned out her trunk. She took out her emergency kit, her emergency rations, and the ice-scraper she'd had to replace last winter. She found the broken one way in the back of the trunk.

She remembered fighting with Jake something awful that day, winter snow falling all around them as he'd yelled about her getting a flat and not even bothering to really scrape the back window. Then he'd yelled more when she'd tried to shove him aside and change it. He wouldn't be shoved, he'd said. She recalled throwing the handle end of the broken scraper at his head as she stood on the side of the road. It missed, and he'd made fun of her aim and of her temper, which only made her more upset. She could feel the snow in her hair and knew that she longed to be back in that moment.

She wanted to be that girl again. 

She _longed_ to be that girl again. 

Sam gripped the lip of the trunk, and wondered why she felt like crap about this, even as she knew that this was a great thing, and something she wanted to do. She would never be that girl again. It was time to face facts. 

Sam was lying half-way into the trunk, trying to brush out dirt with the ice-scraper because she didn't want to have to haul the shop vac out here when she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Dad. "Sammy, are you sure?"

He was standing there, almost reaching out to steady her. Sam planted her hand on the edge of the trunk and pushed up, ignoring the wave of dizzy pressure that built up in her head as she shifted again. Sam's vision swam, and she fixed her posture before she let the blackness take her. 

Sam looked at the car. It wasn't great, but it had served her well. "Yes. Jen needs a car, and I don't." She spoke before she could stop herself. Sometimes, she missed Dad so much it hurt. It hurt to be in the same room and not feel like he was really there. It hurt more than most things she'd ever known, and she would have done a thousand stints in the hospital and a million in rehab just to have him look at her like he'd used to look at her. "I probably won't drive for a long time, and it's not good stewardship to have it here when someone can use it."

"It's nice of you to think of Jen, then." Dad said, "I just want to make sure you're not doing this because of money. Mom said..." Dad followed her around the car. Sam sat sideways on the passenger seat as he continued, "...that you were worried about money. You don't have to be."

"I'm not working, Dad. I can't drive. It doesn't make sense to keep the car around." Sam didn't know what else to say. It didn't make sense to keep it, and it didn't make sense to want to keep it. 

Sam decided that if she wanted Dad to be open with her, that she had to be open with him. She wanted him to know that she wasn't some kind of altruistic saint, that she was doing this for her, as much as for Jen. She guessed that in her heart, she wanted him to see that she was still the same person, still foolishly soft in a world that had sought nothing but to make her hard and tough. She was still the same girl who got attached to objects. She missed him, and sometimes, at night when she couldn't hide from her soul, she wondered if he missed her, too.

Sam put more of herself out there. She knew this was a huge risk. She couldn't help but leap again. "I was planning to sell it, but I couldn't give her to a stranger. Jen'll give her a good home. She already promised to keep silly things off of the rearview."

Sam did not look at her father, then. She looked at her carry. The car thought that such adornments were tacky. Sam was glad to know that there would soon be muddy boots in the trunk, and an extra saddle blanket in the back seat, even if there wasn't going to be an extra drawing pad there, too.

Dad looked almost worn down. Sam only caught a flash of something she could not name before his expression went blank. She had likely imagined the pain there, or had projected her  own emotions onto him.  "You can always change your mind. Paying your way is fine, Sam, but I wish you had asked me for help."

Sam knew that she wasn't going to change her mind. How often did she use the car? It wasn't fair that it should sit here, on the sidelines of life, waiting in vain for something to happen that never might really come to be. It was better that the car take her lumps and move onto something better, or at least something that made sense.

Sam could not say that to her father, though. She knew that this time, he wouldn't tug on her braid and smile about her gentle heart. The realization still hurt. 

Sam finally said, "Thanks, Dad."

He seemed to be thinking. Finally, he stopped considering her face carefully, "I'll call the insurance company now. Jed and Jen'll be over after dinner." He paused. "Make sure you clean out that door."

Sam looked down to the open door and saw that there was a catalog stuffed in the door, along with an empty film canister. She didn't bother to open the film canister as she put both in the box, got in the chair, and hauled the crate onto her lap. She shut the door, and rolled away, a curious swirl of emotions churning within her.

 _The way the plants are dying, you'd swear it's fall_  
Looks just like autumn up and down the hall  
And I talk to them baby like you're supposed to do  
But they're tired of hearing about me missing you  
  
Well it's a desperate situation,   
I got a strong will to survive  
But if this place is any indication   
I may not make it out alive

 _Before You Kill Us All,_ Randy Travis 

Jake found himself coming home later than he'd expected from an unexpected house call. House calls, he'd discovered, were about more than treating illnesses. It had been a crap day. He'd spilled tea on his pants, and nearly scalded himself in the break room. He'd only had a pair of work jeans in the truck.

He'd had to meet patients with tea, thankfully, on his knees. They were stiff with sugar, but dry when he tagged along on a house call, which was often a way for older people and sicker people to talk to Dr. Haskins.

Dr. Haskins wanted to check on people he was concerned about, in some cases, provide a boost of morale for caregivers in others. Jake bumped along dirt roads and along the highway, learning more than he ever thought possible. He went to the barn, and threw in a bit of work, his lunch still holding him over. He wanted to see Witch, anyhow.

Witch was always a good sounding board. He and Sam had a plan to get her back riding, though they still needed to have an absolutely major discussion about the details and make sure that his idea of what was going to happen matched up with hers. With his PTSD all over the place, knew it was going to be a tough talk.

They had a plan, but it was contingent on what the doctor had said today. Sam texted him without saying much, but he wanted details. He wanted to know what advice the doctor had given, and how Sam was feeling. He hoped that she had eaten something after her bloodwork. He hoped she hadn't waited for him to eat.

He went to the barn to avoid rushing inside to her and making it obvious to everyone that he missed her like he would miss air. It took Jake a few seconds to remember that, technically, Three Ponies wasn't where she lived.

He couldn't expect her to be there, when he walked in the door, couldn't expect anything other than to see Quinn's nasty cereal bowl in the sink and Mom's desk flooded with papers. Those things weren't as comforting as they used to be and the realization made the gaping hole in his soul burn.

He finished his chores, and took Witch for a short ride. He needed to get his head on straight, get beyond his PTSD. They had bigger fish to fry than worrying about how he felt to come home and not find her there.

Sure, it was about the worst feeling, a clammy, sinking, desperation to find her, to know where she was and if she was okay, if she was happy. It was a hold over from his PTSD. He wasn't trying to be controlling. He never would let himself allow his emotions to dictate a choice he made, an action he took. 

Ayers had helped him with that. 

 _Imagine you go away_  
_On a business trip one day_  
_And when you come back home,_  
_Your children have grown and you never made your wife moan,_  
_Your children have grown and you never made your wife moan_

 _The Ghost of Corporate Future,_ Regina Spektor 

 

Jake looked at the paper in his hands. "You want to me to what?" He asked for clarification.

Ayers looked unfazed by his tone. Jake knew that his incredulity didn't matter to Ayers. "Take the paper, put it in front of your face, until all you can see is the paper." 

Jake complied, feeling every inch the fool.

Ayers spoke, "Can you see me?" 

"No." Jake said, simply. All he could see was the crisp whiteness of the paper that was bumping his nose. "What am I doing with this?" 

"What was it that you said a minute ago?" Ayers asked. For all Jake knew, he could be dancing on the other side of the paper. This made him feel really vulnerable and blind to everything around him. 

He hesitated. Jake didn't want to repeat that.

Ayers spoke softly. "I promise it'll get easier."

Jake spoke, "I'm afraid I'm…" Jake paused. His heart was thudding. He had to squeeze the paper to keep his hands from shaking, "I'm not…I'm not…right. I'm never going to be able to be okay."

Jake couldn't see the look on Ayers' face. Jake wanted to see his face, wanted to know what would be reflected back at him in the man's demeanor.  

Ayers accepted his words. "Now, that paper is that thought. It's all of your thoughts, all of your feelings. Can you see anything else, other than the thought that you're never going to be able to be okay?" 

Jake shook his head once, and realized that Ayers could not really see the movement fully. "No." 

"Do you think you could do anything, any activity, holding that paper?" Ayers posed the question carefully. 

Jake did not reply, not the way Ayers really wanted. He could barely think beyond the blinding whiteness of the copy paper. His eyes nearly hurt with the strain to try and see something beyond the paper. He cleared his throat, "I can't even…." Jake knew he needed to be honest, "I can't even breathe." 

Ayers heard him. "You can do this, Jake." He gave Jake a second. Jake did not close his eyes as he sucked in a lungful of air. It was dizzying.

_1\. 2. 3._

"Now." Ayers paused as Jake let out a shuddering breath. "What happens when you push that thought away?" 

"I…" Jake knew how to do this. He did it all the time. "I don't know." 

"Change the thought. Modify it." Ayers suggested. 

Jake did that. He knew how to do that. He did it all the time. "I'm fine." He repeated himself with force, "I'm fine." 

"What would that look like with the paper?" Ayers asked, "If you had to act it out, what would it look like?"

Jake thought for a second, "Maybe fold it?" If he could just make it go, ignore it, not accept it as truth, then he could deal with life. 

"Well, are you minimizing the thought, or pushing it away? Remember," Ayers said, "The paper is your thought." 

Jake faltered. 

"Try," Ayers suggested, "...pushing the paper away from your body with both hands as rigidly as you can." 

Jake did it. It was a little better, all told. He could not see directly in front of him, but he could use his vision along the sides. Until, after a moment, his arm began to protest such effort being put into holding a scrap of paper away with such force. 

After a moment, Ayers said, "Do you have to put effort into it?"

Jake nodded. "I keep telling myself I'm fine, but it's hard. I know I'm not. And I keep…pushing the truth away because I can't face it." 

Ayers waited a beat. " Finish this for me, 'I'm having the thought that…'"

Jake did as the man asked, "I'm having the the thought that…" He relaxed his arms, let the paper float closer to his body in his grasp, "I'm having the thought that I'm not…not right…" 

"You can put the paper in your lap." Ayers instructed, "Put it in your lap, and repeat yourself. I'm having the thought that…" 

Jake did. The paper was on his knees, and his hands were free. His hands were free. The thought was there, in his lap, but it wasn't blocking him, anymore, cutting him off. "I'm having the thought that I'm not right." 

He paused. Jake found that he could see Ayers, could see the comfortable space that Ayers had created in his office. He was not encumbered anymore. "What was that?" Jake asked, almost mystified. 

"That, Jacob, was accepting your thoughts." Ayers said, "Accepting your thoughts means they don't control your actions." 

Jake had paused then, understanding that he had, in some way, just taken the first step towards being okay one day.

 

_Out of gas, just my luck, four bald tires on my pickup truck, no more credit on my credit card_

_When I come home and hit that door I remember what these aching arms are for_

_She's my one light when the world goes dark_

_Tomorrow it's the same old grind but she'll be burning in my mind_

_She Keeps the Home Fires Burning_ , Ronnie Milsap

 

Jake had learned that lesson well. His thoughts did not determine his actions. He made choices, and those choices alone governed his actions. He wasn't going to live life like some reactionary, rabid dog, living in fear. He wasn't going to let himself hurt his relationship with Sam by giving into passing thoughts and fears that were unfounded. He was not controlled by his thoughts. He could accept them. He couldn't always understand them, but he could move forward and make choices. 

He just found a lot of comfort in the image of her, there, filling the places and spaces he knew with warmth and light and joy. He knew it also had a lot to do with the idea of keeping her safe, because he thought about it a lot. It bordered, sometimes, on something he almost felt he needed, or at the very least wanted.

It was not at all their thing, but it was a feeling he'd only just allowed himself to name. He tried not to act like an idiot when his phone actually rang. She never called if she could text.

She must miss him, too.

"Yeah?" He answered, trying not to be too happy about it. It was just a phone call, not a plate of chocolate chip cookies and dough put by to eat raw. It felt a bit like the same, though. 

"Hey, so listen." Sam was strident, in that way of hers, that way that said she was trying to logic her way through something, "I just sold my car. I need to hitch a ride to the bank tomorrow. Jen offered to take me, but I'd rather not..." Sam trailed off.

Jake was glad Witch was fastidiously pulling up grass, staring at him occasionally to imperious inform he better not make her move anywhere she did not choose to go until she was darn good and ready. The ripping sound was comforting under the crackle of the phone. "What? To who?"

"Jen." Sam replied, as though he hadn't been listening. "So you'll take me?" Sam pressed. 

Like she had to ask. 

Jake found that he wasn't annoyed, exactly. He just felt a bit left out. She'd not mentioned anything. What had been the driving factor here? 

"Uhm, yeah." He replied, wondering if she had been planning this, if she hadn't asked him to take a look at the car for some reason he didn't know. "Why..."

He heard the _click-click_ of the chair as she moved. He then heard the door shut. The phone was obviously on speaker.

"Well..." She dropped her voice, "I was tired of seeing it sit there, and I won't take money from people to pay for it if I can't use it, and Jen needs the car for college visits and things." Sam said, obviously having really thought about it, though he sensed that there was more she hadn't said. "It just happened, and it's fine."

There was a beat of silence as she continued, "She said it's unlikely that driving frequently is going to be a part of my life." Jake heard the sadness in her voice, but he also heard something different, something strong and accepting.

He knew who 'she' was without asking.

"You don't know-, you can't predict that, Sam." Jake floundered. Still, he knew that much. If Mrs. Luchinski could overcome all of the things she was dealing with to find new and inventive ways to make tea and plant her roses, than driving would be a snap for Sam, one day. He knew that the doctor was probably right about driving at night and in poor weather, but he did not say that now.

"I know, but I..." She paused. Jake let Witch amble around with him upon her back, pulling up grass and toying with the ends as she decided fastidiously where to place her picky lips. "But it's better Jen has the car. She says it's just in the meantime."

Jake couldn't be mad at Jen, then. He just knew he couldn't resent her taking the car. Jen was doing this for Sam, as much as Sam was doing this for Jen, and as much as they were doing it to meet their own ends. "Okay, Sam, okay." He said slowly, "Do what you think is best, you know that."

He could hear her roll her eyes. As if she would do anything against her own wishes, except when she thought it was something she should do. They ended the call shortly after that.

He put away his phone, and wondered what Dr. Ayers would say about the way he felt about knowing that they would have to share the Scout to get things done in the meantime.

He should have been annoyed at her easy assumption that their lives would meld in this way. He wasn't. The idea made him feel warm inside, made him glad, made him feel safer. 

Ayers would be quick to tell him that he was screwed up from the ground up, and that sharing the truck for a finite period wasn't a pattern they could keep up forever. Ayers would insist that he explore these thoughts, that he try to reconcile his feminist core and his gladness right now. He patted Witch's neck and swore that her snort sounded like "Neanderthal."

It didn't of course, not really, sound that way. Jake was just trying not to give into the urge to grin when he realized that he wasn't like J.J., no matter the choices they made together, because they made them together. 

She had sold the car of her own volition, and then expected that he would be there, but was completely fine if he wasn't going to be there. He knew that Sam could do what she wanted without anyone's say so, least of all his, but it made him feel right and whole to know that she trusted him, had known he would back her up and meet her needs, just as she did the same.

And, Jake decided, there was nothing more empowering than communication rooted in equality and trust. 

 

_I live a simple life_

_Couple of friends I really like_

_A little house outside of town_

_An old car that gets me around_

_Complications may arise but I live a simple life_

_Simple Life,_  Ricky Skaggs

The car was gone, and the money was in the bank. The needle punctures from the bloodwork had hardly bruised. Her schoolwork was going well, and she was working hard to get back in the saddle this weekend.

Life was full of hope.

Gram moved the dust rag quickly. Sam occasionally worked in the house, happy to sit on the couch with a TV table, and spread books around her. She really enjoyed being at home, now.

It wasn't at all suffocating. It was as close to perfect as she had any right to expect. She loved being home, being here when it was just her, just her and the quiet moments when things needed to be done, and she had the capacity in which to do them. 

She liked seeing the people she loved, liked feeling as normal as she possibly could around them. She liked being here, just to see and observe, even when she could not do things. Being home, Sam realized, made her happy. It wasn't a zealous joy, but a quiet rightness that came from knowing that this was working for her. Being able to be with the horses more often was a balm to her soul. She would change a lot of things, but not the core of this choice.

For her part, Sam was almost done with her work for the day. She was ahead in several classes now that she no longer had to worry about going to the school, and because she could work on her own schedule. She found that she could work in spurts when her mind was in the right place. She always felt a rush of something like gladness when she was through another lesson. It was heady and pushed her another step towards her goals.

She found that she got a lot done, even if she wasn't exactly on pace in her math lessons. Anyone could be a lesson or three behind, she reasoned, and it would come out in the wash. "Gram?" Sam began, "I'm going out to the barn."

Sam had been working for the past days, to get ready to ride again. Her workouts had taken on a purposeful edge, and Jake hadn't brought up the idea of going somewhere to learn what she could teach herself. She closed the computer and lifted it up as Gram wiped under her workspace.

Gram lifted the rag. "Don't you have Newspaper?" Gram asked, putting the rag in the bucket.

Sam shifted, but did not stand. She wasn't planning on going. She didn't have a story, and it was unlikely that she ever would. She now spent all of her free time getting ready to ride again, spending time with Jen, and hanging out with Jake. Life was good, and losing the paper didn't make her bleed.

She found it wasn't as vital to her wellbeing as it had once been. She didn't feel that the things they wrote about were important. How could she care about the cheesesticks in the cafeteria, when her life and her worldview was so radically changed?

She was consumed by her schoolwork and the horses. The ranch was thriving. "I'm not going, Gram." Sam thought about saying that the meeting was not happening, but if Gram asked Max, Max would not hesitate to rat her out.

There were just some lies she was not willing to tell. 

"Sam." Gram sat down next to her. "You can't become a shut-in, honey." Gram was looking at her carefully. Cougar crawled into her lap when Gram disturbed his resting spot on the back of the couch.

"I'm not! I go to PT, and OT." Sam declared, "I went to town with you earlier this week, and Jen and I have been together a lot."

They had been, too. Sam was glad that they were seeing as much as they could of each other. Jen had passed along of her knowledge of hippotherapy, which Sam appreciated. Jen never talked down to her, and she was remarkably informative in a way that stayed between the two of them.

Gram paused, "Honey, those aren't fun things."

As if Gram didn't need to tell her the doctor's wasn't fun, but it also wasn't that big of a deal. But, Sam realized, going out with Gram had been a lot more enjoyable than anything her social circle and distant friends had going on, not that she even felt clued in to them, "You and Jen have been in the barn. Don't think I don't know you've been roping her into helping you. You can't let your whole life become this ranch."

The cat butted at her hand, and Sam petted him as she considered her Gram's words.

After a second, Sam asked, "Why not?" She corrected herself when she caught sight of Gram's expression, "I haven't. I go to Three Ponies." Sam finished lamely. Being at Three Ponies didn't really fly with Gram. It was the same thing, apparently.

She got told because she was out late, and then she got told for not going out? What was this? Sam guessed that Gram had figured out that she was doing school at Three Ponies after dinner. She would sit in the living room with Quinn, or in the barn with Jake, and get everything done.

"Sammy." Gram sighed, "Don't you want to get away from your old lady Grandma? You have a whole lifetime to never leave this plot of land, but..."

Sam sighed and looked around the room, "What do you want me to do, Gram? Sex, drinking, and pasture parties?" The cat flopped over and Sam rubbed his furry belly.

He purred contentedly as Gram replied, "Don't sass me." They both knew there was no concern about drinking in her life, nor were random men and wild nights. The idea of being drunk disgusted her. After having her mental faculties taken away, she would never surrender her mind willingly. She still had to write a recipe step by step on index cards so that she didn't screw it up. She couldn't add drunkenness to her problems.

After a moment, Gram tried again, ""There's a point to being a homebody, honey."

"I see people every day. I see..." Sam tried to hold her ground, but she paused when Gram gently cut her off. The cat hopped away, bored of this entire exchange. He padded away to his kitty condo, and lolled there. Sam almost glared at him. He was a fradiycat.

"You see Daddy, and me. Pepper, Dallas, and Ross. Max. Luke. Quinn. Jake." Gram rattled off the list quickly, "And Jen." Sam had just been about to blurt out Jen's name.

"Your point?" Sam said. She did not add that she her gym class once a week. It wasn't the point. She did not need Gram to tell her that she was socially limiting herself. She felt more socially limited around all those people than she ever did at home or in Alternate Gym. She enjoyed the people she hung around with, enjoyed working in the barn, even if J.J. was still a chauvinistic freak. She liked her life more this last while than she had in a long, long time, and she was in charge of it, and she wasn't going to question it.

"You are 16, and part of being 16 is exploring..." Gram floundered.

Sam understood where she was coming from. Gram had always been pushing Sam into being more social, in trying to fit the mold, because she thought that Sam would come to value the experiences later, as she had in her own life. She still talked about those years fondly. Sam knew she wouldn't cherish her teenage years in the same way. Sam understood, but she knew that Gram still did not understand how being away from a lot of that most of the time made her happy.

Sam got to the heart of the matter. "Would you rather that I was happy and strange, or struggling to be normal and miserable?" Sam spoke with soft conviction, knowing the answer before she even finished the question. She was asking this question who made Quinn crunchy peanut butter, after all.

Gram patted her knee. "Go play with your horses, Sammy. I'll hold dinner back a bit." Sam smiled in thanks, and slipped out the door.

 

_Cowboys like us sure do have fun_

_Racin' the wind, chasin' the sun_

_Take the long way around back to square one_

_Today we're just outlaws out on the run_

_There'll be no regrets, no worries and such_

_For cowboys like us_

_Cowboys Like Us_ , George Strait

Sam did just that. Her chair was hardly noticeable in the barn, now. There was always work to be done, and Sam set about doing it. She had slowly found that she could carry a bucket by placing it on her lap, steadying it with one hand and pushing with the other. If the bucket was light or nearly empty, she could hook it on the push bars. If it was heavy and her weight was centered, she could balance it without holding it too tightly.

It was the little victories that made a difference. Sam, therefore, tried to think positively as she tried to come up with a way to reach her saddle rack. It was too high to do her any good. She wanted to know that she could still move it. She hadn't told Jake, but Saturday was the day.

She needed to be ready. She was tired of waiting. She was going to get up on her horse, even if she didn't do much beyond putting herself in the saddle. She had no clue what she would need to work on until she pushed that limit. Finally, she decided to stand up, slid it to the edge of the wall rack, and sit down allowing gravity to take the saddle along for the ride.

It worked out okay, until the saddle clattered to the floor, all weight and and bends and straps. She had forgotten how bulky it was, the leather filling her senses, with a sense of comfort and rightness so strong that she nearly cried. She tried to pick it up, but failed. Sam considered the situation. "Leverage." She backed up, and reached down to pick it up.

She almost tipped the chair, and couldn't help the word that spilled from her mouth as she scrambled to throw her weight back to keep the chair from tipping. Her heart skittered as she righted herself. If she had fallen… 

Sam realized that face first wasn't the way to handle this. She put herself alongside the saddle, but couldn't do a darn thing because she only had one side to use, positioned the way she was. Sam huffed at her own foolishness.

Now, it wasn't a matter of picking it up because she could, it was a matter of picking it up because she had to do it. No one left tack on the floor, unless they keeled over carrying it. She wasn't dead yet. Sam resolved to stand up and pick it up. She had picked up J.J.'s nasty bags, and she could pick up her saddle.

Sam got out of the chair. She stared at the saddle on the floor, the fenders lying twisted against the floor. Sam stood, and bent down, ignoring the shift in her sensory perception, mainly because she had no other choice. She had hefted saddles since before she had a clear memory of not doing so, since the day the boys had teased her that she couldn't do it, since the day she learned that anybody worth their salt saddled their own horse, if they could do it.

She had showed them then, and now she was going to show herself now. Sam gripped the leather, doing her best to cradle the saddle to her chest. She did not dare place it on her hip, and try to move it that way. She couldn't even walk properly if she had a messenger bag on, trying to balance with a saddle on her side.

Sam had just lifted it off the ground when she heard, "Drop that. Now." Sam let her fingers open as he eyes did the same.

Her father was in the doorway, and he was not happy. A thunder cloud would be more joyous. "Hi, Dad." Sam sat down easily, as though nothing was amiss. Really, she thought, nothing was. Her legs splayed out in front of her, because she had neglected to lift the feet plates. She had to grab the side of the wheelchair to keep from sliding to the floor, as her core muscles were weak, and her balance was poor. 

"Sam." Dad replied, looking at her carefully. "Five." 

Sam was not ten anymore. Counting to one wasn't going to make her talk.

Except, she realized, it did. It worked all to well. She tried not to say anything, but by the time he put the saddle back on the rack and got to "Three." she elected to speak. It was an adult choice, and had nothing to do with a lifetime of conditioning.

"I just wanted to pick it up, but it fell." She stated calmly. Dad did not look impressed, so she suggested, "We ought to move the rack. I think a few inches would do the trick, really." She tried to play it off easily.

She wasn't going to be told that she had been doing something wrong. What she did with her tack was nobody's concern. So long as she cared for it, that was, and well, it wasn't being cared for, laying on the floor like that, now was it?

Sam got the idea that her nonchalance was not being bought by her father. "You're not to be riding alone." He amended his statement when he looked at the chair, "You're not to be riding at all."

"Dr. Sinclair said that I could! I was just trying to prepare." Sam retorted.

She didn't want to fight with him. Sam let it go. She didn't want to fight with him, that much was true, but she did not want him up in her plans and business. There was a line, and that was a line that she was not going to let him cross. Not now, and maybe never again. 

"Would you put it back, please?" Sam asked, after a second of silence. He did not move. Sam looked at her father, looked at the set of his lines, the grit in his eyes that never came close to masking how much he cared.

They were both screwed up, but they both loved this ranch. That's pretty much, Sam figured, all they had left between them. She was going to show him, show herself, that she was worthy of working by his side, show them both that she was strong. She wouldn't get anywhere, be anything like the person she needed to be, if she went on letting him pick up her things for her.

"Put it back." She demanded, not harshly, but quite intently.

Dad shook his head, "Sam." She was beyond caring what he thought or didn't think. She was capable of picking up her own tack. The world treated her like she was invisible or a thing to be stared out, but she would not allow it in her own barn. "You don't need to lift it."

"It is mine. I put it there. I will pick it up." She'd dropped it because she could not control her movements, control her brain. She could not control her body's function, but she could control the force and the direction of her will. She would do this, or she would die trying.

Somehow, some way that she did not quite understand, Dad put the saddle back on the floor. He didn't leave though, and Sam sort of wished he had as he asked, "How are you planning to pick it up?"

Sam was already on her feet by the time he spoke, so she simply looked down thought. She saw the wooden chair in the corner, and pulled it over to where the saddle was sitting on the floor. She then spoke, "I'm going to put it on the chair."

Sam did not give him room to make suggestions as she carried out her plan. Lifting it this smaller amount was somehow easier, though she supposed she was relying on adrenaline and other chemical reactions in her brain.

After a concerted effort, she got it onto the chair, and tried to pretend that it was easier than it had been. She sat down in own chair, and exited the room without giving her father a real chance to reply. Walking away was easier than wondering if she could really do this while he was standing there. She went and groomed her horses in the pasture, now that she knew the best way to get the chair down there.

She knew that they didn't need as much grooming as they were getting now, but it was something she could do, and she enjoyed any excuse to be near her horses and feel useful. It was hard to be useless, and even harder still to feel so much like a burden around here.

When she came into the room into the morning, her light jacket zipped up over her t-shirt and yoga skirt, she stopped short, nearly dropping a bucket that was balanced on her lap. Her saddle rack had been moved lower, to almost the exact location she would have specified if she had been asked.

_Now I've tried to talk to you and make you understand_

_All you have to do is close your eyes_

_And just reach out your hands and touch me_

_Hold me close don't ever let me go_

_More than words is all I ever needed you to show_

_Then you wouldn't have to say that you love me_

_Cos I'd already know_

_More than Words_ , Extreme

Jake knew he sat closer that was actually needed, as he helped Sam increase her range of motion on a trunk rotation, at the end of a long session. She grinned softly, knowing exactly what they were up to as her fingers grazed his side.

She pressed three fingers into his shirt, a soft I on one end, a U in the middle, and an L on the end. The ASL sign for "I love you..." was something she tapped into his skin all the time, long before he'd done it himself.

Mostly, it was in her sleep, or when she was high, so he didn't think it counted. He loved feeling it when she was awake and sober. The waffle cotton of his shirt was something she seemed to enjoy feeling, not that he could expect her to push it off and throw herself over him, not with Grace in the next room. It didn't mean the image didn't flash in his brain, though.

Jake felt her end the stretch, pulling his idle thoughts away from her yoga pants and her warmth. "Do you think I'm a shut-in?"

Jake worked with shut-ins, now, people who couldn't or didn't leave their homes except to go to the hospital to be given one more reason to stay at home. Jake's voice was as soft as she had voice her question. "No. Why?"

Sam quickly looked at the kitchen door, wrinkled her nose, and frowned.

Oh. Jake's eyebrow rose in understanding, as her grip loosened and she relaxed back into him. 

Grace really was pushing the idea of her being more social. It just wasn't Sam's way, and it annoyed him that Grace still, even after all of this, was not accepting who she was, who she was choosing with all of her will and all of her might, to be. He thought about asking if she wanted to go to dinner, but he got the idea that his company wasn't what Grace wasn't meant, at all. He didn't think Jen or Ally would fit the bill. She had lots of other friends, though. Those girls at the paper might feel a bit distant to Sam, but she had her gym class after and...

Jake had an idea. He had those sometimes.

He tried to keep his voice low, for Sam's ears only. He leaned closer, an excuse to breathe in the soft scent of her skin at the nape of her neck. "Why don't you invite your gym friends over?" They could hate watch something on MTV. Grace would see them, and all would be well. He liked watching Sam holler at the TV over the top of his book, but he knew that Grace had a point.

Sam didn't go to the school building, so she wasn't forced to deal with idiots all day. It would be too easy for her whole world to become her horses and her family. This way, she'd get Grace off her back and enjoy some time with people she actually liked.

Sam spoke, "That might..." She seemed to be considering the idea, as goosebumps rose on her skin. Jake wanted to smooth them away.

Grace must have overheard them. Jake figured it was because the second they touched each other, Grace's eyes were on them like a maggots on a dead body. He thought Grace was completely off the mark, there. They could be trusted, but Grace swore to Mom that she saw something different.

He had heard the tail end of one too many conversations not to know what was being said behind their backs. He tried to shield Sam from the brunt of it, as their gossip hurt her, no matter what she said about it. She desperately wanted their trust, and she deserved it. 

"I think that's a grand idea, Jake!" Grace declared, in that way of hers that said she was watching them and was glad to have had something positive to inject into the conversation.

 

Jake thought that she was pushing Sam. Jake glanced down at Sam in apology. She shrugged it off. There was nothing, her eyes said, to apologize for. Gram had eavesdropped and was pushing her, not him. 

"You can have anybody over anytime you want, Sammy. If you want me to make something up for your friends, I'd be glad to do it." She bustled into the kitchen, grinning at Jake as though he was a genius.

After a second, Grace called out, "Jake, when you two are done there, do you want some cake, also?"

Jake grinned and cracked up. Sam looked at him, and there was murder in her eyes. Jake thought it was rather funny. She looked so utterly pissed at him. It wasn't his fault that they had chaperones. It wasn't hers, either, but come on, this was a little bit funny. He had been the fall guy for Grace's plans to make Sam socialize. And, he was getting a reward for being her minion. 

He tried to control his laughter, "I'd love some cake, Grace. " People Grace were pleased with got cake. Sometimes, unwittingly being her minion wasn't so very bad at all.

He laughed, and Sam pinched him, hard enough to hurt. "Ow!" He said, trapping her hand under his as he patted the area that wouldn't bruise but stung mightily. "Don't hurt me." Jake put his head down on top of hers and hooked his feet gently and around her folded body, a soft hug that served to help Sam find her center after twisting herself into countless shapes on a daily basis.

Sam tilted a little bit, and craned up with a grin over her face."Thanks a lot, idiot. Now she's going to lay out a buffet for something insane and vapid like  _The Kardashians Take Manitoba_ or something." She snuggled back and Jake tightened his grip a little bit. She sighed, and pressed down on his arm with a slight bit more pressure. She mumbled something that sounded like a declaration of her emotions wrapped up in a sigh of contentment.

Jake buried his nose in her hair. After a few extra long seconds of breathing in Sam's scent and feeling the softness of her body, Jake felt himself relax more fully. He loved deep pressure hugs, loved that she tried to get as close as she could and understood that he needed them in the same way that she did. It was some of the only times right now that he wasn't trying like heck to ground himself in reality.

_Be my friend_

_Hold me, wrap me up, unfold me_

_I am small and needy_

_Warm me up and breathe me_

_Breathe Me,_  Sia

Even though Sam felt kind of awkward asking, the people in Gym class were more than willing to come over. Sam had reconsidered her idea of watching TV, like she usually did, and instead pulled out a few movies. She didn't know what people did when they came over. She and most of her friends lived in their barns, but she'd called Matrona, and Matrona had said to let them pick the shared activity.

Sam knew that much about having guests over, but Matrona laughed and said to stop stressing. It wasn't a first date or something, she'd joked. Sam didn't know what a first felt like, being that she was pretty sure she never wanted to deal with that in her life. If they felt anything like waiting around for her friends, counting the seconds and hoping dinner ended early enough and that she had gotten things together okay, then she never wanted to go on one.

There were some things that were just foolish, given her life choices. Although she did feel very funny when she realized that many of the things she and Jake did together were dates, really. They weren't exactly dating, but they weren't not interested in each other. It seemed equally foolish to deny that the fact that they loved each other colored how people saw their relationship. Going to the bank maybe was dull for some people, but it had been fun to drive there and really talk, because they were together.

She didn't let herself think about it when the lights were on, but she knew she was a gooey mess when it came to how she felt about Jake. She loved him, loved that she was the one person who made him really open up in those ways, loved that their relationship was something they could sustain in a myriad of ways.

She knew, too, that people often said that he loved her more than she loved him, but that wasn't true. There just weren't words to describe how she felt about him, so she didn't really try. If people didn't see that she lived not only for herself, that was their problem.

Sam reminded her father, "I'm having friends over tonight."

Dad looked at her over his chicken and peas, and chewed thoughtfully. Once he swallowed, he added, "Let me know if Jen's having any trouble with that car of yours."

Gram interjected excitedly, "It's school friends, Wyatt. Sam's having her friends over from Gym class." Gram was so happy that Sam couldn't help but smile. Gram's reaction was ridiculous and overblown, but Sam tried to understand and cut her some slack. "Who's coming, Sammy?"

"Well. Millie. Eric. Gina. Bree. I don't know if Eric is going to swing by and get Simona, as she wasn't sure she could make it, but..." Gram knew all about them. She had cleared out the peanuts for Eric, and purchased Coke in case Simona did come. Sam sipped her water, "Bree's bringing her baby, too."

Bree couldn't get a sitter. It was fine that he come along, anyhow. Sam couldn't imagine how hard it must be to have to leave Eddie for school and work, and she understood that Bree wouldn't want to leave him for something silly, even if she did have a sitter.

"Her baby?" Dad asked. Gram was spooning more peas onto her plate. She knew about Eddie. It wasn't that big of a deal to Gram. She liked babies.

"Yes." Sam added without much thought, "His name is Eddie."

Bree didn't have a lot of support in raising Eddie. Her life was really challenging, really hard. Sam knew there was nothing glamorous about raising a baby when Bree was young and still in school. She was making a lot of sacrifices for Eddie. Bree lived her life coping with massive amounts of stress and tension that came from making choices for her son without a lot of choices and options to be had.

She wanted to make them, but Sam didn't envy her one bit. Bree loved her son, but her life was hard. She worked and raised Eddie, and then there was school. She had tried the extension program, but couldn't really keep up because all of her attention had gone towards Eddie while she was at home all day. She considered dropping out until she realized that she had to get through some sort of training program to support her son. His father gave nothing, acted like Eddie didn't even exist.

"I don't know, Sam." Dad said, poking through his peas, "You might get pregnant, too, if you hang out with her." He looked a bit wary.

"Dad!" Sam exclaimed. At the same time, Sam heard Gram say Dad's name in a shocked tone of voice. "I can't believe you!"

Gram looked over at Dad, something like sadness in her eyes. "It's not like it's catching, Wyatt."

Dad had the good grace to look ashamed at how he'd spoken.

Sam understood, but she figured that really knowing Eddie and Bree was good for her. If anything, it made her certain that she really wasn't planning on being a mother until her life was squared away. Dad should want her to be around Bree, see the hard road that she walked, not as a cautionary tale, but as her friend, to learn how to be empathetic and supportive to someone whose life was different. Bree was just a person. She wasn't a cautionary tale. Sam wasn't either and it didn't do anyone any good to turn a complex person into a trope or a warning.

Still, Sam had they had their own things to do, and they could not do right by a baby, give it the kind of life a kid deserved by rights. They were hard work. Bree's own life was centered around Eddie's needs, and Sam was too selfish to want that willingly, and she knew too, that Jake was nowhere ready for a child in their lives. She wasn't sure, in her heart of hearts, that she would ever be able to take care of a child when she needed so much help.

Sam could not believe Dad was judging some of the only people that had truly welcomed and accepted her. People could very well say the same things about her for different reasons.

Rather than say as much, she decided to mess with him, "Dad, I realize you've only done it once, but I assume she got her baby the usual way. The stork put her on the waiting list. Or is a factory, and the stork is like the UPS? I'm not sure. You never have said." Sam finished pertly.

"Well, what if you get to wanting one, Sam, what then?" Dad challenged, as her mouth dropped open and Gram looked at her father like she was seeing him for the first time. At least Gram was being sensible.

"Don't look at me like I hate the girl, but I've got to look out for Sam, and I'm not sorry for doing what I have to do about it. You could spend time with the little boy and then..." Sam glared and he looked at her and not his mother as he continued, "It's happened!"

Sam sighed. They were going to have to put it all out there. She did not want to state the obvious to her father, but evidently he needed to hear it. "In the first place, Dad, I don't currently want kids. They're cool, but they're too much work. We couldn't do right by one, and I don't want one until we can."

She liked kids, she really did, but liking other people's kids was not the same thing as making the decision to have one. What would they do with a baby? Stick it in the tack room, really? Haul it along to medical school and wear a baby-wrap to a cadaver lab? Feed it ramen and keep it out of the turpentine and oil based paints? The poor thing deserved a better life. She wasn't even sure she could take care of a kid. She could hardly care for herself.

She continued on just as matter of factly, with some indignation. Sam's words carried her away, as they often did. She wasn't a child, given to wanting something regardless of the consequences just because someone got it first. She was slowly coming to see that things happened when they happened, and when you didn't force things, that they were good. Really good. Just look at how things were going with Jake. She was trying not to rush it, not push them both, but whatever they had was beautiful and right and good and whole on its own.

Gram was watching her, still. Sam knew that she was often surprised when Sam acted her age. Gram still saw little girl.

"In the second place, I couldn't carry a pregnancy to term even if I wanted to, which I do _not_ , because of the medications I'm on." It was the very reason she was on birth control.

Well, partly. It was her cover story, and a big reason, but not the only one.

After living with Matrona, she'd finally understood the implications of believing that she alone was in control of her body, that she had to honor it, and take care of it. She knew that, even those days, that if she could ever have a libidinous desire again, that exploring them was going to happen one day. She wanted to be prepared to act responsibly.

"Also, for your information, I'm not having sex. Even if I were to make that decision, I'm not relying on anybody but myself and a 22 gauge, 1.5 inch needle in my behind to keep me protected."

She'd insist on condoms, too, but she knew that that information would reveal too much. The details of her choices, and the choices they made together, were entirely private. This was none of anyone's business but hers.

Sam finished and picked up her fork. "Anything else you want to know?"

Dad scooped up his peas. "Well. How do you feel about immigration?" Sam smiled, then, and didn't bother to answer the question. Gram passed the rolls, and Sam took half of one. Her father was strange, but he did care in his own way. That much, however oddly it came to be known, was clear.

_Well, I guess I was wrong_

_I just don't belong_

_But then, I've been there before_

_Everything's all right_

_'Cause I've got friends in low places_

_Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away_

_And I'll be okay_

_I'm not big on social graces_

_Think I'll slip on down to the oasis_

_Oh, I've got friends in low places_

_Friends in Low Places_ , Garth Brooks

"As you know in fashion, one day you're in. And the next day, you're out." Heidi Klum declared, "And that means, Finn, that you're out."

Millie gasped softly as the young man returned Heidi's perfunctory kiss and left the stage with an "Auf Wiedersehen" ringing in their ears.

Sam leaned forward on her armchair, secretly glad that Finn was going home. She'd liked the other dress on the chopping block much better than she had liked Finn's creation.

Eric shook his head at her, "Told you he was going, Millie. Tim Gunn frowned when he said 'Make it work' and that man never frowns." He bit into his cake with an exhalation that sounded so joyful it was almost a wheeze.

Gina added, "The music was sad. It was foreshadowing. Did you not notice the key?" She looked to Millie, concern slowly evident in her confused tone. To Gina, everyone liked and understood music. Those that did not were to be pitied. They were the confusing ones, she said, not her.

Sam wished that Jen was here to toss her hat in the ring. She would have known mathematically, based upon the judges' comments and evaluations. Sam was enjoying herself, but fun wasn't exactly fun in the same way that it was when Jen and Jake were around. She even missed Quinn. She was in a room full of nice people, people she liked, and she found herself wondering what they would think about all of this. It was too bad that Jake and Quinn were working on the house, and Jen was out with Ryan. She wanted them here because she wanted the parts of her life to come together, somehow.

She was tired. It had been a long day, one of schoolwork and trying to do more in the barn. She wanted to sleep, even as she was happy to be here. Her social meter was overflowing, and she swore that if Jake spoke tonight, she was going to brain him with a pillow. Gina took Eddie from Bree, and looked at him as she hummed notes, changing the inflection when he smiled.

It was nice, if odd, to see school friends at home. Gina spoke more, Bree was softer, though still brash and funny, and Eric hadn't brought along his DS. Millie, Sam saw, was Millie wherever she went. She was kind, and sweet. Her laugh was a bit louder, but her empathy still knew no bounds. She was sad for the eliminated contestant because, she said, it was clear there were deeper reasons he hadn't done his best.

It was strange to be doing something that the whole world considered normal, something that she'd never really done before. Dad had done his bit and popped in, and Gram tried to overfeed her friends. It was par for the course, she supposed.

The evening was winding down when Quinn came in, through the kitchen, eating more cake that he should have been able to fit in one bowl. He carried a cool wind with him. Before Sam could speak, though, his eyes zeroed in on Gina. "Gina?"

The room watched him. She stopped making sounds at Eddie. She had been encouraging him to copy the sounds.

It was evident that Gina was some kind of musical genius. One could not know Gina for more than five minutes and not see that fact. It was also clear that Quinn knew her, and that she knew Quinn.

Gina rarely spoke to people she did not know about anything other than music. And yet, she said, "We're developing our verbal skills through the application of the musical scale. Do you want to try, Quinn?"

Millie was just staring.

Sam wasn't sure if she was looking at Quinn or trying to understand the conversation that Gina was having with Quinn.

Before Quinn could answer, and Sam was pretty sure he would done as Gina asked, Gram came bustling and Bree returned at once, packed and ready to go. She took the baby, and something shifted in Quinn's gaze.

Sam shot him a look. Their non-verbal communication was finely honed. They could get a message across when they needed to do it. He had better tell her later, that was for sure.

Sam rose from the chair and took her bowl into the kitchen.

Quinn made his excuses and followed her. "Her brother's my friend. I haven't seen him since we graduated, and I..." He shrugged, and passed her the dishtowel. Sam gathered that that's why Gina was so at ease with him. "It's not her baby, right?"

Sam wiped the frosting out of the bowels and answered Quinn, wondering why on earth he really cared. "No. Why, Quinn?"

Quinn looked dead serious. "Because she's a kid, Sam, who deserves to make it out of here, find people that really get her. She deserves the symphony. Have you heard her play?" Quinn asked, softly as he put away the cake, after eating another bite with the knife.

Sam gathered that her observations about Gina had been spot on. She guessed an instrument, "The violin."

Sam also knew that having a child, while creating new challenges, wouldn't stop Bree from living her dreams. It didn't seem right to lecture Quinn, though, not with the look on his face, and to when she wanted information.

Quinn shook his head, mouth full of cake, "Cello, last I heard. Don't get them mixed up. When she was younger, she got miffed and tried to stab me with her bow." He rubbed his side after he swallowed the mouth full of cake. "Said I was an ingrate."

A burst of laughter came from Sam that she swallowed, and tried to remember to whisper. "I remember that. You bruised! And...that's why Nate played classical music for weeks after that." Sam was lost in memories as she vaguely recalled the event in question. "She's Andrew's little sister?"

Quinn affirmed that she had a brother named Andrew and a brother named Gentry, both older. Satisfied, Sam went out to say goodbye to Bree and Eddie and Eric and collect more plates. When Gina and Mille came in to the kitchen to help her do the washing up, Sam found that Quinn was gone.

He hadn't even mentioned why he was here. She shrugged. She had a strange brothers, but she loved them. Now, if only Jake and Jen had showed up.

 

_Is it out of line if I were simply bold to say "Would you be mine"?_

_Because I may be a beggar and you may be the queen_

_I know I may be on a downer I'm still ready to dream_

_Whistle for the Choir_ , The Fratellis

 

Jake let the door shut behind him softly. It was nearly dinnertime, and he'd spent all day with geriatric patients. He felt like he smelled of Tabasco and menthol, from the house calls he had observed riding along with Dr. Haskins. He'd had so many to make this week. "Mom?" He hung his bag up on the hook, and went into the kitchen. He should have realized that Mom wasn't home, the second he heard the radio.

"She's not here." Sam called over her shoulder. Jake watched her as she smoothed out the batter in a brownie tin. Sam was baking cookie bars. There was a stripe of flour on the front of her dress that shook out onto the wood when she moved, and her feet were bare. "It's her warning meeting night."

Jake slouched against the doorway. The house was empty, then, if Mom was out scolding students who were failing, and giving the weekend off to lick their wounds and be properly contrite. Dad would be working late, obviously, if Mom weren't around. He really only stopped working when Mom was around. "Hm..."

Sam looked up at him and grinned. She put her index cards into a pile carefully, relying on a memory system they'd taught for cooking at rehab. Some of the vanilla got onto her fingers as she put the cap back on the bottle.

He was content to watch her clean up, not because he was lazy, but because she was beautiful, beautiful like she was when she woke up in the morning, beautiful in a way that was real and true, that didn't try to hide or excuse her uniqueness. He shook his head, not believing how fluffy his thoughts could become, and how strong she was. "How was Dr. Haskins?" Sam asked, putting the bars into the oven, the soft fabric of her dress molding over her shape as she moved.

Sam rolled her eyes when she put the bowl in the sink, and Jake realized that he had been staring at her, watching her.

Jake felt a grin overtake his face. "What?"

Jake put the milk in the fridge and wiped down the table. Sam bumped into him when she reached for the chocolate chips. Jake took hold of her waist to steady her. Her body was still slim, too thin for her frame, but she had lost the gaunt edges to her bones, even though the angles were sharper than they ought to be. 

Sam just smiled and leaned back against him. She knew exactly what she was doing, but Jake didn't play along. He raised an eyebrow and moved away.

She stuck out her tongue at him, which probably wasn't the best thing for his brain.

After another few seconds of watching her as cleaned up, Sam looked him up and down and quirked her lips, "Something specific you want to stare at, or do you just like this color?" The sarcasm in her voice was not sharp.

Sam was teasing him. "You were staring." Sam asserted, a sparkle in her eyes.

"Was not." He might have been staring then, but it was for certain that he was staring now, at the bit of baking soda in her hair, the tiny smear of butter that had somehow stayed on her fingers, as though it, too, could not bear the thought of leaving her, or denying itself her touch. Sam just blinked up at him, a thoughtful smile on her face.

Sam stole Jake's breath. "I might be, now, though. That okay?"

Sam shifted her feet, and her skirt was pressed up against his jeans. He knew that he would walk away from her with flour and raw egg on his clothing, but he didn't care. He missed her when he was gone. It brought him joy to think about her, here. "And more."

Jake let his hands fall into the folds of her purple skirt. It was cotton, he felt, a lose weave that hid her shape until he pressed it against her. It moulded to her like a second skin, and he relished her reaction to the contact. She liked the way the fabric felt against her skin. He liked the soft, comfortable, tone her clothing choices had taken since the accident.

The form and function of her normal choices had been modified, softened. The things she picked never stopped her from doing exactly as she pleased. He liked the comfortable skirts she wore more often than not, now. He liked the smooth, soft fabrics. He didn't care about clothes, but he liked the outward representation of her softness, liked knowing just how much she contrasted him. 

It wasn't about the gender binary. She was light and brightness and hope and joy. She embodied his hopes for peace, for safety, for love. She was action and passion and empowerment and belief and everything good and right and meaningful in the world. 

Sam shifted against him. Her breath left her slowly. Jake saw the wheels turn in her head. He wanted to know exactly what she was thinking. She was glowing, alight in the kitchen. "Are you going to let me finish?"

The cookies? Or was she talking about that moment truck? They'd since discussed it, and he understood that when she meant what she said when she said it. She understood that he couldn't have let J.J. be an impetus for anything. They'd agreed. 

But. 

J.J. wasn't here now. There was nobody here but them. This was about them. 

"I said I was sorry about that." Jake slid his hands around her, and took up most of her weight, just because he could do it, and she had been on her feet too long. 

The smooth skin of the back of her thighs was warm, burning his fingers through the fabric of her clothing. Jake loved her legs, loved the smooth slope of her thighs, the swell of her hips.

"We got an offer on the house. Cash." Sam's lips parted, and he felt her grin, even before he pulled away enough to see it fully. "We're good for awhile."

"You are." Sam agreed, her grip on his arms tightening as his breath danced along her lips.

She was so beautiful. Sam made finding the words to tell her impossible as she pushed forward and effectively turned the tables on him. She folded down the back of his collar properly and brushed her lips against his jaw as she did so. "No more for awhile, right?"

Jake was confused. No more what?

He swore his brain had shorted out. He just swore it, that with one brush of her lips against him that he was completely lost to coherency. Sam continued, as though she wasn't one tiny bit shaken by their contact. He knew better, could read past the walls that she was clinging to with the bare ends of her broken fingernails. "I can't go along all the time, and I miss you enough as it is."

Jake understood that, was gladdened by that admission. Talking about her feelings was hard for Sam, because she knew she was often physically vulnerable to the world. She held her emotions and her thoughts back a lot of the time now, simply to have something that was hers alone. She needed to feel strong somehow, though he wished that it wouldn't extend to him, infrequently as it seemed to.

"There's nothing good on the MLS." Jake didn't add that he hadn't really bothered to look. Winter was coming now, and they were okay money-wise. It didn't make sense to take on more work, not if he intended to have more labs in the spring semester.

Sam was satisfied by that answer. Jake knew she would be, and held back from telling her that the real reason he hadn't looked was because he really didn't want to be away from her so much. Here they were, standing in his mother's kitchen when she said, "Sometimes I miss the city." At that, Jake knew that they were no words. There were no words for that kind of empathy. She wasn't saying she missed San Francisco, not really.

Jake swallowed. He opened his mouth to say one thing, and another thing entirely came out. He forgot what he even planned to say. He lost control of his tongue as he often did when nervous. He grinned, when he sawn that light in her eyes that made his palms sweat and his stomach knot, "If Sue could see us now..."

Sam frowned, "You do not want to know what she'd say." Sam hedged, somewhat more gently than she probably really wanted to do it, but the fact that they were like this, standing like this, together, after such a long time apart, gave her leeway.

Jake grinned.

_I get carried away by the look by the light in your eyes_

_Before I even realize the ride I'm on baby I'm long gone_

_I get carried away nothin' matters but bein' with you_

_Like a feather flyin' high up in the sky on a windy day, I get carried away._

_Carried Away_ , George Strait

Sam was going to have to make this very plain indeed. Jake wasn't stupid. His hands were on the back of her thighs and his chapped lips were hot against her ear as he demanded, "Tell me." The texture of his voice sent a bolt of fission down her spine.

She hated when he told her what to do, but never like this, in these moments, made it entirely different. He was asking, offering up vulnerability, offering up his want, and she felt powerful. Sam didn't reply. She could hardly breathe.

Jake, in putting his head on her shoulder, had found that the sleeves of her dress were anchored with elastic and he took some kind of perverse joy in running his fingers underneath the seam gently.

He was going to be the very death of her, Sam decided.

She could barely stand. Her knees started to quaver. Jake, of course, felt that, and within seconds she found herself sitting on the couch. Sam wanted to tell him that she hadn't wanted that to end, but lost her train of thought when she nearly hit her head on the arm of the couch.

She shook off his helping hand, "I'm staying like this." Jake pulled off her shoes, and pulled her feet up gently, before wedging himself on the couch, next to her but on the outside. She took the inside up, and turned a bit so as to not fall in the couch's end.

They had often spent time like this in San Francisco, and she had missed this quiet companionship, missed his hands in her hair, missed his breathing in her ear outside of the bed they shared. It wasn't exactly the same in the beds they had here, and he never really lingered at River Bend, despite her best efforts.

All around her now, all she felt was Jake, and there was something incredibly right about that to the point that her senses questioned nothing about it.

Jake hooked an arm over her, and pushed up a bit to look at her, a softly questioning look on his face. He was intending to slow this down.

Sam knew, though, that the time had come for him to stop putting up roadblocks to something they both wanted. She had done it enough herself. It wasn't thoughtless, and heady, like she always thought this moment would be. It wasn't rushed or frenzied. Sam decided to give him information he'd need to make up his mind.

Hers was made up, and he deserved the same right to make that choice. "Sue would say you're the turtle and not the shell." Sam decided softly, glad he'd taken off his own boots because she twined her feet around his leg.

Sam knew Jake understood that this had nothing at all to do with her Aunt Sue.

He looked uncertain, and Sam's heart almost broke, for them both or for him she wasn't sure. It faded in a heartbeat. Jake, after a second, grinned awfully, and blew every so slightly on the skin revealed by the slippage of her dress.

Goosebumps raced across her clavicle, and Sam was enraptured by how wide his eyes were. She could barely force herself to breathe. She was praying her body would listen as she tried to think, but anything he thought always came back to him.

"We don't need to rush this, Brat." She spent years, years, thinking about doing this, just this, and she knew that he had, too.

There were a thousand things to discover between here and there, and Jake wasn't the sort to miss something or rush things. Sam understood, she did. She got it, but they were never going to get anywhere unless the started someplace. Sam reached around him and pulled the hem of his shirt from his pants. Jake tilted and let her do it, helped her along, even. It was just so strange to see him with his shirt tucked in. He rarely wore his clothes like that, and it seemed wrong in her mind.

"I'm not really rushing." Sam defended her actions, not that they really needed it. She knew about all of the things he dared not to tell her.

"No." Jake agreed, with a grin that set her heart to racing, "You're not."

And just like that, Sam knew that her hands had found the front of her shirt for more than one reason. She would never be sure if she pulled up to him or if he leaned over. 

She still felt his heart race as their lips met. It was a thousand moments poured into one action, one second. Sam knew that she would never forget it, never forget that something they had waited so long for could be gentle and unassuming. Nor would she ever forget how quickly something soft and tender became impassioned and ragged.

She stopped thinking, and started feeling, and for once, she didn't hurt. She didn't feel pain. Her body was doing something wonderful, because it was her soul that was coming to the fore. It was her soul that had waited eternity for this, though God help her if she ever told Jake that. His ego was big enough as it was.

He pulled back and Sam hated him for it, hated that he'd reduced her to jelly, and he could still grin like that and insist, "Stop philosophizing."

Sam swore internally that she would kill him if they stopped, but thankfully, their minds were on the same track. "Idiot." She breathed against his lips.

Jake's smile was enough of a reply. Sam was glad for the support of the couch and the warmth of Jake's body. She could not think beyond making him feel good, as good as this tiny step felt her. She tilted back to give him access, and Sam felt their hearts race in tandem as her chest rose underneath him.

Sam began to say something, breaking off in a shudder as he experimented with pressing his tongue down more firmly against her soft skin as he breathed her in, letting the texture of the touch shift briefly, as the taste and sensation grew. The texture of their kiss sent off bottle rockets in her mind. 

It was heat and warmth and light. There was so much. Sam was certain that they weren't getting this totally right, but it didn't really matter. 

Jake's forearm was keeping the bulk of his weight off of her, as he played gently with the edges of her hair, moving in the opposite direction of his mouth.

His reaction to her touch had kept her mind spinning. His kiss was so much, much more than she'd ever dreamed of, and Sam was humbled by his zeal. He tried to help her shift, and when he moved his hands, Sam made a panicked sound and pressed his hands back where they had been from the start, and nearly kicked him as she shifted underneath him. Jake listened, and helped them both to settle more comfortably, never breaking the kiss.

Sam's awareness narrowed down to their embrace, the slight pressure of his weight against her, the softness of the couch at her back, the way Jake's leg was keeping them on the couch, the way his hands were under her dress, smoothing down her body like he meant to memorize every bump and dip, like he wanted to soothe her even as the tangling of their mouths set fire to her blood. 

Sam rocked up against Jake, a rush of air escaping her lungs. This was great. This moment was like being lit on fire and not burning up. Sam felt the cool air against her body and realized that her dress was hiked up, the bodice had been pushed down, and it still wasn't enough. Jake was a rock solid presence against her, and Sam relished in the reverence and the fervor she felt in his touch. There would never be enough of this. 

"You okay?" Sam breathed, as Jake's teeth scraped along the juncture of her throat and shoulder. At the same moment, his fingers found her bellybutton. His fingers dipped into the hollow, there, artfully, as his tongue replaced his teeth, "Oh, _fuck_ , that's nice." 

"Hm..." Jake affirmed, those same fingers moved lower and back up, skimming over her skin. How he had the gall to tease her was beyond her imagination. Sam knew that he was lost to this passion as she was. 

Sam didn't like that he could even think, hooking her body more fully around him, pressing them together. Without breaking their embrace Jake held her and pulled his shirt over his head. Sam's hands were everywhere then, and Jake shuddered when she paid attention to sensitive spots that only she knew about on his body. Turnabout was fair play, and darn did it feel good.

With some consideration and feedback, they found a way that worked for them, found a better angle, found a way to meld and get lost in each other. Sam figured out how to breathe, how to give and take, and they lost themselves in a morass of lips and teeth and tongue punctuated and complimented by exploratory hands filled with reverence and a growing sense surety.

They were holding back, maintaining some boundaries. Much as she wanted to, she wasn't going to let this go too far. Jake didn't want that, she knew he didn't, and honestly, neither did she. This, this silly, beautiful, calm, fervent, thing that could only be called a full-on make out, Sam decided, was absolutely fantastic, and she just wanted more, more of this closeness, just like this, just more...

"Sam..." Jake promised as she pulled his hand down to feel her heart, his voice nearly broken with emotion. It had all come down to this, years of building and building had come down to this one, one tiny impulse against the wall of the kitchen, because they'd missed each other.

Sam was content to let the anticipation build a little bit more before moving forward. 

The first of anything only happened once, and it had finally happened. He loved her, she loved him. Things were perfect just the way they were because they simply were. Sam forced herself to open her eyes, and she saw the love she felt for him reflected back at her in his mustang eyes, in the way they lived their lives, in the way that she knew that this moment, as profound as it was, wasn't the high point of their life together, wasn't something that really defined anything.

It wasn't something she was going to stress one day, when she looked back. Well, maybe she would, but only privately.

Sam's breathing was harsh as she pulled back, watched Jake's eyes glitter above her. Her hand cupped the side of his face. "I love you."

Jake's heartbeat raced and slowed when she spoke and it was all the reply she ever wanted. Sam's breathing quickened as she felt Jake explore her mouth as though he couldn't get enough, couldn't help but want to know everything. He slowed down, inexorably drawing out the kiss, before pulling back to stare at her like he couldn't quite get over what he was seeing. It was nice. 

It was really nice. Sam wrinkled her nose in response, just to see him smile. Jake grinned, and rested his head against her shoulder. Sam carded her fingers through his hair. 

When he shifted, Sam pulled her dress back up. Jake smoothed his hands over the tiny sleeves, over the sensitive slope of her neck. Sam shivered against him, traced the turtle tattoo with her fingertips, the swirls and whorls that she had first drawn on his warm-toned skin.

 

"Who's making choco-Woah..." Quinn said, from the open doorway.

His voice was like nails on a chalkboard, seconds after hearing Jake whisper harshly in her ears, as hotly as his body vibrated against hers. Quinn's arrival took away the sense of place that they had created, the lazy, slow, warm feeling that had been building as the heat between them cooled. Sam could not believe she hadn't heard anything over their breathing and the sound of their heartbeats. 

Quinn got out before she realized that he was actually there. Sam found herself sitting up so fast that she was dizzy.

Had Quinn really just walked in on them? Was her dress really that twisted? Jake's shirt was most assuredly half-way across the room. And was that her bra, hanging off of the ottoman? 

Jake didn't look as soft as he had two minutes ago. In fact, he looked downright angry. Sam didn't exactly blame him. Quinn walking in had shut down any natural ending to this, any discussion or any kind of resolution that they might have made together. One second, they were kissing because they couldn't get enough of each other, as if the only source of air they had were in each other's lungs, to having a bucket of ice water figuratively poured over their heads.

Still, he smiled at her reassuringly as he pulled his rumpled shirt back over his head. It was then that Sam realized that she had been staring dumbly. She didn't get the problem, exactly. 

Jake crossed the room quickly and helped her to steadily find her balance. Sam quirked an eyebrow, and Jake nodded, not that he looked to happy about it.

Sam shook her head.

They were going to have to handle this, though, and it was going to require putting their personal life out there for Quinn. It couldn't be helped. Two words from Quinn, and Dad would read something into things she had said the other day, and Max and Luke would not be happy either. It was hard for her to accept that they wouldn't be happy, but she understood that change was an entirely different breed of goat when you were not the one creating it. Sam knew in her soul that nothing was going to change between them in any way that mattered, but their families wouldn't see that.

And even if they didn't, Sam realized, it didn't matter. What was between them was between them. This had been a long time in coming, whatever this was, and it wasn't like this changed their relationship. Sex didn't exist in a vacuum. They still had a relationship that existed irrespective of the thrum of pleasure in her veins and the way Jake explored the hollows of her bones, like he wanted to get lost in them, get lost in her. 

 

Sam tilted her head, as Jake helped her to slide her flats back on.

He stood. Sam tried not to laugh hysterically. He looked like a ruffled hen, all rumpled and baffled. Sam bit her lip, knowing they were already swollen and red. 

This was great.It was kind of funny. This was just her life. Sam picked up her bra, and folded it. 

Jake was looking at her like she was crazy. He needed to work on his sense of humor. 

Sam called out then, feeling Jake's eyes still on her as the room cooled around them, "What were you saying, Quinn?"

He was in the room, very obviously having been on the other side of the door, in a second. He seemed fine, even if he did look vaguely green around the gills. He looked briefly at them, and seemed to be considering his options. He could make a big fuss, he could tell everyone and leave them to weather the storm, he could tease them, he could disapprove, he could...

Sam was lost in memories that made her blush. She remembered running across the yard, yelling without shame, "Come back, Jake! Don't run away!" Invariably, he had. He had allowed her to trail after him, and for too many years, she had endured the silly jibes that grew sharper as she'd aged.

It had been cute at four, at five, and six. At ten, twelve, and until the day she'd learned to hide it better and figured out a way to never fall behind him, she'd heard some variation on the theme, "Aw, look at Jake's girlfriend!" The boys had made fun of her until her lips had wobbled and she'd hollered that she was going to tell her Daddy in the coldest, strongest voice she could muster up, even if the yarn in her braid had hit her in the face as she'd done it. Like her threats had scared Quinn, least of all any of the rest of them. It had embarrassed her then. It had for a long time, until the day the denial had hurt her heart.

She'd cried that day, into Kitty's mane, asking her mare what was wrong with her.

The others had said the same thing, until she'd learned to fight back. She'd started to deny it, first hotly, with passion because the whole thing made her feel silly, and then with a practiced, falsely bored disinterest that was anything but internally. Each time she'd asserted "I'm not his girlfriend!" she'd them to believe her, and then later, much later, she'd willed herself to buy it, bury what she'd come to want in later years.

Perhaps she'd done it too well. Jake still didn't understand why she was letting stand in her way now, but the years of well meaning patronization from Max and Gram was almost as bad as the teasing she'd endured. It was cute, and sweet, they said, until their tones had taken on a worried edge that infuriated Sam because she'd slowly been coming to see that it would never be.

The word made her feel funny, like a five year old girl running after him with wildflowers in her hands and dirt on her knees, like a gawky thirteen year old with frizzy curls staring at a sixteen year old boy and not understanding and loathing herself for the swirl of emotions inside of her. It made her think of the first time his smile had made her insides twist and her heart race. It made her think of the time she'd lost a tooth and Jake had whistled and then laughed when she'd tried and couldn't do it. The word made her think of all the kids in their teeny elementary school that had said, "Aw, here comes Jake's girlfriend!" every time they'd played together, until he stopped playing with her, and wouldn't let her play kickball with the other boys.

It made her think of all the times he'd been allowed to ride steers when they were little and Dad wouldn't let her, so she'd often trotted alongside Jake until the last second, and everyone said, "Aw, there comes Jake's girlfriend..." until he'd blushed and said she couldn't come along anymore. It made her think of all the times that her friends had asked about him, and she'd had to quash her emotions with an "I'm not his girlfriend..." until she'd learned to look around and be happy with friendship, learned to embrace what she had until the idea of what she'd hoped and dreamed of had seemed so silly and meaningless.

They were together now, so all of that was a thing of the past. They had been for ages, ages. Darn it, but Jake was right.

Jake was right. Fucking hell, Sam thought. 

If she had learned anything today, it wasn't that Jake was a very, very, mindful kisser, one who paid attention to the smallest detail and tried to act on that feedback. It wasn't that she had liked it when his hands had cradled her skull and fanned out her hair. It wasn't that Jake moaned when she sucked on his bottom lip, even though she had honestly done that by accident in her inexperience. 

No. She had learned that he was right. 

Happiness was a choice, Sam realized, and she was going to be happy now, no matter how many times Quinn taunted them, teased her now. There wasn't anything to tease about anymore. She wasn't five, and she might still have knobby knees, but she could stand on her own, without being ashamed of how she felt or the choices that had stemmed from tying to understand those feelings and trying to act in ways that were authentic to them. She knew how she felt and she could own it with her best friend in her corner. If there was one thing she knew, she knew that it was hers, that his heart was hers, that it had always been, and that his support would never waver. 

She didn't need to know that she had his support to make her own way, but it was nice. It was nice, and the fact that that she knew that without question formed the bedrock of their relationship in ways that made the kissing all the nicer. 

Finally, he said, "Lucky I showed up, huh? You almost burned the cookie bars, and everyone would demand an explanation." With that, he bit into an apple and considered his words, looked at Jake carefully, and left the room.

Sam knew that there would be a conversation later, but Quinn wanted time to figure out how to best heckle them. He looked positively ill. Jake turned to her, and for the millionth in her life, it was all Sam could do not to laugh at Quinn behind his back. Primly, Sam patted her hair and found that it was a mess.

_Do you like my stupid hair?_

_Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear?_

_I'm too scared of what you think_

_You make me nervous so I really can't eat_

_When you smile, I melt inside_

_I'm not worthy for a minute of your time_

_I really wish it was only me and you_

_I'm jealous of everybody in the room_

_Please don't look at me with those eyes_

_First Date_ , Blink-182

Sam felt like warm, happy, jelly, hours later. She read her history lesson, and whenever her eyes closed, she felt Jake's hands on her body, his breath on her body, the look on his face when he'd realized what she wanted to share with him. During her science lesson, she felt his touch on her face, felt how his skin had felt underneath her hands, felt it against her collar bone, felt the press of his mouth and the warm heat of the very air from his lungs. She felt so much, and she wasn't a bit conflicted about it, in this at least.

 Jen hadn't even yet really kissed Ryan. Oh, she mentioned a perfunctory peck on the lips, sure, but Sam knew for a fact that Jen wasn't kissing Ryan with the sort of bone melting intensity that one simple kiss in the kitchen had ratcheted up to very quickly. They just didn't have that kind of relationship. To Sam, though, one kiss was huge, completely and utterly profound. She had officially gone farther than Jen ever had, and she had been dating Ryan for years, on and off.

Sam wasn't setting herself up to compare things. That wasn't the point. She didn't know why she was thinking about Jen. 

She always had told Jen about bigger things in her life. This was not something she was going to call Jen and gush about. It was so much more meaningful. 

It was a huge step for them, although she knew in the grand scheme of things, that what they'd been working their way towards wasn't that wild, even if she did harbor thoughts that maybe left to their own devices they might have gotten each other off, after some discussion. Who knew what might have happened? Sam didn't. She didn't care, either, because what had happened was incredible and was worth celebrating. 

She knew why. They were going to have to talk. It didn't need to be some big discussion, but they needed to talk.

That they wanted each other sexually was of no question. It would never be questioned that he was her best friend. Still, Sam knew that their relationship was different than most. Jake coming unglued in her arms was a huge act of trust and reverence between them that defied logic and all good sense. She wasn't talking orgasms, here, but the fact that he had even let himself become aroused, let his guard down enough not to rein in every physiological reaction ruthlessly, let himself be in the moment so much, was a huge act of a trust. 

He didn't talk a lot about his recovery. It was hard for him. He bought into a few ideas about masculinity that had been challenged over the last year. He thought it was crass to talk about sex, for one thing, and for another, he had struggled in admitting to himself that he had a right to want to it, in a way that was healthy and whole. Sam wondered if their religious upbringing had shaped his view of sex more than it had hers. 

Jake, though, Jake had been so in the moment, so honest and forthright, unafraid of consequences in a way that made Sam's heart just skip thinking about it. He had done that today, been wholly open, in ways today that he hadn't been ready for in the truck. He hadn't frozen and backed off quickly. He'd accepted his reactions, hadn't blamed himself for liking the way she'd rocked into him, for example. He had taken a step with her, trusted her to keep him safe if he did have some kind of flashback. 

Sam knew, of course, about the dreams and the impact they had upon him. It wasn't that hard to figure out, and her heart broke for him because of the impacts his dreams had on his daily life. Sam hoped that some of those demons had been laid to rest today. And yeah, okay, it was a step, and they needed to talk about it, but it was a big step. A happy step, she thought. 

It was a big moment for them. 

Sam knew exactly what would have happened if Quinn hadn't come home, and she only regretted that they'd not gotten a few moments to talk. She knew it was prudish, but the whole idea of anyone else even in the house was an ice bucket on her system. Quinn was a frozen Niagara Falls.

Still, it was for the better that they had stopped, she thought, simply because they couldn't let themselves get carried away. There were questions they needed to answer together, before she jumped him, and before Quinn showed up again. She needed to think with her head, and not her heart. There wasn't much difference where Jake was concerned, not for her. Sam accepted that, but she also knew that she needed to be mindful of those things when considering how to approach this. 

She had taken the lead this afternoon. It was her way to charge ahead, but she wanted to know, in words, that Jake wanted this, whatever this was. She didn't want to take advantage of him, or push him into giving her things he wasn't ready to give because he thought that he needed to do anything he wasn't wholly ready for, into, and down with. 

Frustrated, she looked down at her word document, and found it to be wholly unrelated ramblings. She deleted it before she could even read what she'd written.

Sam, therefore, decided to put her ethics where her mouth was, and went over to Three Ponies. First, though, she took a shower. She needed to think, because she knew that thinking was not her strong suit when thinking about how much she loved Jake. 

She bummed a ride from Pepper, who was off to see his lady love in town. Sam nearly giggled when she smiled him and saw his slicked back hair. Sam felt grubby in her yoga pants and sweatshirt. Her boots completed the outfit. Still, Sam played along and let Pepper open the door. "You look swanky, Pepper." Sam ventured, as they left River Bend.

He blushed, and mumbled something about Tracy liking the way he looked when he was all fixed up. Sam looked at her own outfit, and was glad that she'd remembered to throw on a bra when she'd taken her shower early tonight. She'd wanted to feel level when she had a rational conversation, and sometimes, a girl just had to scrub her hair to feel that way, irrespective of anything else.

Jake thought he liked her clothes. He didn't, because he didn't care what she wore. Unlike Pepper's lady friend, what Jake thought of her did not depend on the way she looked. Sam had figured out that he liked the way she looked when she felt comfortable in her clothing. It didn't strike her as odd that he could read her so well, only that he didn't come up with the root cause at the end of thinking about it. Things like that didn't matter to them.

They rode in silence, Pepper's scent nearly giving her a headache as they rode along the dark road that led toward Three Ponies. Sam peeked out at the stars through the windshield. They were lovely tonight. She heard bugs, and the owl, and the low howl of coyotes in the distance. Sam, for the first time since the accident, felt the urge to follow the hoofbeats in her heart. She nearly cried in relief. It was still there. It had not died. She had lived. And, now, she was going to dance in the flames.

_This house is a circus, berserk as fuck_

_We tend to see that as a perk though._

_Look what it's done to your friends their memories are pretend_

_And the last thing they want is for the feeling to end_

_This House is a Circus_ , Arctic Monkeys

Of course, the house was crowded with people, Sam thought. The piano's noise filled her ears as quickly as Pepper had ruined her nose.

"Hi, Grandpa!" Sam said, as she went through the kitchen. He was drinking some tea. Sam couldn't smell it over her nostrils that were still filled with the scent of Pepper's cologne. She hoped he would roll the windows down to get the stink blown off him before he saw Tracy.

Grandpa greeted her, and Sam stayed only as long as she had to stay before she went into the living room.

Jake was reading something related to hippotherapy and Quinn was fiddling around on the piano. Jake looked up at her and smiled. Her own smile was forming before the smile in his eyes reached his lips. She didn't speak to him, though.

Quinn hit another note, in greeting.

Sam replied, "Quinn, get out."

"No can do, Sammy." He replied, "You beat it." He continued to fiddle with the piano, obviously playing something to drown her out. He began to hum uproariously in time with the notes, like he was in some kind of cabaret. Sam's frustration grew as what she planned to say left her mind.

Sam looked at Jake, and he rolled his eyes. Quinn started playing something Sam knew, but she couldn't remember the title. "Quinn, I swear!" He began to play more quickly, shooting her an annoying look over his shoulder.

She looked at Jake for help, but he just shrugged. He was no help.

Sam couldn't steal his sheet music because he knew the tune by heart, and could play it with his eyes closed. She couldn't remember the title. Sam's temper rose, "I could kill you." Sam paused. The details why were no one's business but theirs, and Sam wasn't going to cheapen what they had by using it as leverage over Quinn, even though he knew exactly why.

Jake spluttered and blushed, though he hid it very well. Sam was certain that only she saw his reaction. Quinn rolled his eyes, "Stop being a drama llama, Sammy. And Jakey too. He glared when I tried to eat a cookie bar, car you believe that?"

He turned back to his keys, as Sam colored. She was glad the darn things hadn't burned, was all. She had been too busy to put them on the other rack. "Go play in your lair until you can play nicely with others, hm?" He teased her, though Sam did not really care that he was trying to goad her to figure out what she was talking about. Why was he so smooth with other people, and an utter goofball at home?

Sam opened her mouth again, but Jake took her hand and very gently said, "Quinn, stop acting like you're five." Sam felt his touch on the bear like she was on fire. It was localized, though, and didn't mess with her mind overmuch. It was just a moment of reconnection.

Quinn played a peppy, taunting, tune, as they left the room. They had to stay a few minutes and chat with everyone. Grandpa was in a storytelling mood, talking about his recent trip, but Sam wasn't of a mind to listen. Out of mutual accord, they walked outside after a time. Sam turned away from the swing. She didn't want to go there. If this all blew up in her face, she didn't want it to ruin the memories she had there.

"Sam?" Jake looked at her quizzically, but followed her to the edge of the pasture. The horses were in the distance, but Sam heard their soft noises and the sound of the night all around them.

She didn't know what to say as she grabbed the fence, not realizing how much energy she'd used to get here. Brushing at the seat of her yoga pants, Sam put her bottom against the rung of the fence, and put her feet out to brace herself. "Tomorrow. I'm ready."

Sam almost swore he got whiplash, he turned to look at her so quickly, "What?"

"For riding, Jake." She answered, as she felt a curious shift in his body, "I've done all I can do without getting up there. I don't know what's going to happen until it happens. I can plan until I'm blue, but..." If not kissing Jake, and then finally doing it had taught her one thing, it was that fact alone.

"Uhm. Okay." He ran his hand over the back of his neck. "That's...that's...yeah. We, uh, need to talk." He said it so seriously that Sam's heart began to race.

Jake was never nervous around her. He was warmer, a deeper sort of heat radiating from his body. In the distant light of the floodlight over the barn, Sam put two and two together and realized that he was blushing.

"Okay." Sam said, realizing that she should have used his discomfort as an opening to tell him that he was right and they needed to DTR. They needed to come up with some logical, rational, sound boundaries that they agreed upon. They needed to sort everything out.

Jake was clearly relying upon their work with Ella as he said, "I'm wondering why you keep using the word friend. You completely dance around anything else." Jake asserted, forgetting to use his "I" statements. He continued resolutely, "For the record, Sam, I don't think friends do what we did this afternoon. It's not bad, and it's not wrong, and if you think it is, if you're not ready, this, whatever this is, it stops."

Sam exclaimed, "You think I'm..." she laughed humorlessly, shocked, "You think I'm using you for sex. You think I'm using you for sex, and who knows what else. That's great." She leaned more fully back against the bars, and wondered if anyone would imagine that this was the topic of their conversation. He couldn't think that she was actually...could he? Did he?

Sam wondered, if in fact, she was pushing him. The thought made her sick to her stomach. 

Jake snapped, "Stop putting words in my mouth." After a second of silence that stretched between them, he reframed what he was trying to say, "I'm not saying that. I know better." He kicked a dirt clod as he leaned against the fence, facing her sideways. "But I sure want to know what this is, what we are." The words were soft, and Sam heard the things he did not say. 

Sam remembered that she wanted to talk about this before she answered. She knew what he was with such certainty that it was the hardest task she could recall facing to find the words. There were no words for what she felt for him. Rather than pour out her soul, Sam said the only thing she could. She hoped he would understand how profound it was. "I like our life. I'm finding out what it means to be happy, and I thought you were getting there, too. I want you to be happy."

Jake sighed, "I'm there with you, Brat, but God, I'd be happier if I could hold your hand in front of people and call you mine, tell them I'm yours..."

Sam realized something that shook away the words she'd been about to give him. It didn't matter what he called her, what he thought of her as, not really, because he respected her and cared about her and treated her with honor. There were no words that could encapsulate their feelings, so no paltry word was going to limit their relationship. She wasn't going to let that happen. She was too happy to let it happen. Sometimes, happiness only came when she realized what she had, and not what she had lost. It was a simple frameshift that had rocked her world in the last few days.

"Jake?" Sam was trying to hide a smile.

"What?" His hand fitted around her waist, as he pulled down the side of her shirt, and rubbed gently at a tiny bit of redness his rough skin had left there. Sam melted into his touch, understanding that some of the way he was putting things were not things he knew how to put into words.

"I hate to break it to you, but you already do those things on a regular basis." His other thumb was making warm circles over her shirt, inching close to her belly button. She swore that his hands could span her waist. It made her wish she had a bit of her weight back, though the idea was not unpleasant. It kind of was what it was.

Sam felt his other hand slide around the back of her head, as she looked up into his eyes. They were burning bright, and she felt worshiped as he looked at her with such want in his eyes. "On a daily basis. See, you do it so much, you don't even think about it." She affirmed, just to see what would change in his expression. She knew, though, every time he did it, every time it happened. She felt it, body and soul, even the most casual of interactions. "You want what you've already got, what you've had for ages, if you only took the time to use those eyes of yours and look."

Sam hugged him when she felt the rightness of her words sinking into his bones, into the very marrow of his soul. It felt right. He needed affirmation and affection, not anything else. She felt the vibrations of his chest as he spoke, his hand sliding down her neck to rest gently on her back. Sam got goosebumps that set her nerves on edge. She was grounded though, and her mind didn't go haywire, because some fundamental part of her knew and trusted Jake in a way that deified scientific explanation, from his touch under his skin to their heartbeats moving in tandem.

Sam understood that she had to take her own advice. She had to live, really live, knowing that she could trust both him and herself to figure things out once they got there. She couldn't plan everything, but, Sam grinned, neither could Jake. Slowly enough so that he could pull back, Sam put her hands on Jake's shoulders, pushed up on her toes as his hand supported her weight more fully, and...

Jake shifted. Sam didn't know what that small movement really meant. 

"I'm so sorry." She stopped, dropped down to her feet again. "I'm pushing you." Sam shook her head, "And I don't want to do that. I want you to be comfortable, happy." She was on a roll, wanting to get this out, "So I just want you to know that the ball's in your court and we can talk about anything, you know? I mean it. I don't want you to think that I'm pushing you, that I'm unwilling or unable to understand how difficult…" 

"Sam." Jake said, "Passing thoughts don't control my actions, you know that." He was so proud of that pronouncement. Sam knew that tone, used it herself. It was a hard-won lesson that only countless hours in a helping relationship would allow. 

Sam licked her dry lips. "What does, then?" 

"Truths. Logic. Things I believe in. But mostly me, however that works." Jake allowed, "D'you want to come inside and eat a cookie?" 

Sam burst out laughing. "You just want to tease Quinn!" Her giggles were almost unbecoming. Sam couldn't hold it together. There he was, sharing deeply profound psychological revelations, and in the next breath, he was giving into a childish desire to tease his older brother. 

"Maybe." Jake said, "But maybe I just want to eat before we get the hell out of here and discuss enthusiastic consent." 

 

Sam laughed. "That sounds fun." 

And, it really was, even if Sam got in trouble with Dad for being out so late. It was totally worth it. 

There were _a lot_ of details to anticipate. 

 

_All nature seemed to be in perfect harmony_

_Your eyes made skies seem blue again_

_What else could I do again but keep repeating through and through_

_"I love you, love you."_

_I still recall the thrill, guess I always will_

_I hope 'twill never depart_

_I knew I loved you heaps and you were mine for keeps._

_Dear, with your lips to mine, a rhapsody divine_

_Zing! Went the strings of my heart_

_Zing! Went the Strings of my Heart,_  Judy Garland 

 


	24. Parachute

_  
I really feel that I'm losing my best friend_

_I can't believe this could be the end_

_It looks as though you're letting go and if it's real, well I don't want to know_

_Our memories_

_Well, they can be inviting but some are altogether mighty frightening_

_As we die, both you and I, with my head in my hands, I sit and cry_

_You and me I can see us dying...are we?_

_Don't tell me cause it hurts (no, no, no)_

_Don't, Don't, uh-huh Hush, hush darlin'_

_Don't Speak_ , No Doubt

Jake's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He didn't sleep, so it was no surprise when he saw her in her nightgown, her hair brushing the bottom of her waist as she stood by the foot of the bed, journal article in her hand. The journal was folded back, the pages marked and folded. 

Jake startled, feeling woozy as she began. "Have you read this article by Lechner et al., which found that hippotherapy significantly reduces spasticity of lower extremities in SCIs?"

Fuck. He knew what this was, tried to think past it. Jake tried to remember what lemon tasted like, and blinked so hard that his eyes teared up. Jake's heart pounded as Sam tucked a long strand behind her ear, shifting her weight. 

Jake swung to the side of the bed, stomach rolling and head light. Sam was blathering on, about some article. He ignored her. 

Something wasn't right. He couldn't reach her. He got up and went to the bathroom, satisfied that the coldness of the tile made it clear that he was, and had been, remembering something from the past and putting a current memory on top of it.

Jake could not understand how we was getting from place to place. Colors and textures felt strange. 

Sam had never really said those words. He was not hallucinating, he told himself as he padded down the stairs, drenched in sweat and desperate.

He was not hallucinating. 

In the kitchen, he saw Sam sitting on the counter. He was transfixed by her hands, palms flat, pressed into the countertop. Her nails were bloody, cut to the quick and the cuticles were raw. She tilted her head as if to scold him for leaving her behind. Her hair was up now in one of those twists she loved, and Jake did not look at the unearthly pallor in her skin as he pointedly ignored her and got a cup.

Sam-on-the-counter huffed good-naturedly. She was barefooted, Jake saw, and her toes were painted a sparkly turquoise. 

Ignoring her hurt, but it was his only option. 

Jake pulled his gaze away from her. This was not his Sam. This was not Sam. This was not her. He kept chanting that over and over, but nothing made her fade away. She grinned like she could read his thoughts. 

He felt like he was spinning as he reached up into the cupboard.

The open wooden door did not block out her words."Feldman writes that the resuscitation of a patient with severe closed head injury and hypovolemic shock is a commonly encountered clinical scenario. Aggressive use of crystalloid solutions may worsen brain injury. Early use of mannitol or hypertonic agents may worsen hemorrhage and shock. Recent experimental evidence suggests that the early inclusion of an agent such as mannitol in the resuscitation formula may be appropriate despite the evidence of shock."

Sam rattled off the journal article she was quoting verbatim. 

Her strident tone turned almost mocking. 

The glass was heavy, and his palms tingled, but he did not look her way as she stretched, and swung her feet gently. She was not going to be content with being ignored. Sam-in-the-bedroom, Sam-on-the counter, well, they were all, somehow, Sam. 

Jake tried harder. He didn't want this dream. He turned up the water, turned it as cold as he could manage, the metal feeling as real as anything beneath his white-knuckeld grip. 

Sam-on-the counter met him measure for measure. "Jake, did you know that although Britton noted the amount of benefits that an individual with a disability obtains in hippotherapy is dependent on the combination of factors such as type of disability, severity of dysfunction and type of therapy offered, that Bream and Sprangler found that once the patient is on a horse, it acts as a substitute of the cerebellum, providing patients different inputs that are near to those that are experienced during normal human walking?"

Jake did not bother to assimilate those words, for they burned into him. He turned on the water and Sam, who was perching next to him on the counter by the sink rather than by the stove, leaned over towards him, and nearly yelled, "Pretty cool, right?"

Her voice was laughing, mocking. It hurt. 

He did not answer as he downed the water. The spritz of water on him made his skin tingle. There was nothing on Sam. He set down the glass with a thunk, and picked it up again, testing a theory, and looked beyond the glass, over the rim and through the bottom. She wasn't there. There was nothing but fruit on the counter.

He knew that Sam was upstairs in her bed and hadn't said a word to him for hours beyond mumbling and pulling the covers. He couldn't tell his brain that truth though. Jake turned around and knew that he had to get out of the kitchen.

He had a theory to test. 

He stepped on on the porch, needing air, needing to clear his head. Jake sat down after he found that there was no version of Sam anywhere to be seen with his eyes open. Thank God. 

He looked and looked at the horizon. He could barely breathe, in that he felt like the weight on his chest was crushing him alive.

He was not hallucinating. 

Dread built in his chest. He was dreaming. 

_You were bigger, brighter and whiter than snow  
Screamed at the make believe, screamed at the sky _

_And you finally found all your courage to let it all go_

_Remembering you fallen into my arms, crying for the death of your heart_  
You were stone white, so delicate lost in the cold  
And you finally found all your courage to let it all go

 _Pictures of You,_ The Cure

"You keep ignoring me!" Sam snapped, throwing a snowball at his face. It was absolutely freezing now. Wasn't it early fall? It was too early for this kind of snow. Jake looked around dumbly.

He was standing in the yard at River Bend.

God, some part of his rational mind started to scream, oh, God, no. 

Sam was before him, not too far away, looking like she had months ago, alive and there. This was Sam-before-The-Accident, Sam-with-her-hat, Sam-with-her-happy-carefree-joy. 

Jake felt like throwing up. He didn't want this, didn't know this girl. But she kept coming back, coming back in his dreams, and he was at war with himself. This Sam was not the woman he loved. 

Jake resolved to stay away, not let things get too far, even though he could feel some sort of anticipation building within his traitorous body. 

"You better move it, Ely! You'll regret it if you don't!" Sam-with-that-hat said, "Don't you remember that study by Barlow that found that children with TBIs are often less physically active, and less able to participate in sports and many childhood recreational activities due to motor but also executive dysfunction? She wrote that any psychosocial problems associated with obesity may be more significant in these children who are already at risk of social isolation. Preventative weight gain strategies including but not limited to routine endocrine investigations should be part of any rehabilitation program."

Sam threw another snowball and laughed, "It's not me that's going to be fat if you don't move but you! Run." Her laughter floated over to him.

Thank you, Jake prayed, unable to speak. Sam-with-the hat, he saw, was her. Maybe he could trust this dream, this time. Jake saw the tattoo on her wrist, and felt safer than he had in some time. 

Jake ran after her, kicking up a snow that was perfect for playing in the snow. Iridescent snowflakes dusted his shoulders, not at all cold. They felt like sunbeams, joy, and light. 

This was what being around Sam was like, Jake realized. Warmth, and light, and rightness, and joy. 

Jake laughed, and grabbed snow as he shot towards the barn, molding the snow as he moved. Jake tried to follow her, but he paused, wanting to throw the snowball that was suddenly freezing his hands. 

Her tracks were gone. There was no sign of her anywhere he looked. 

Jake stood there, realizing that this was just a dream, just like any other.

It was a nightmare.  

He was aware of this fact, and powerless to stop it. The sky that had previously been blue grew dark and the winter wonderland that had been all around them turned into a blizzard like he had never seen. He tried to find the house, find the close-line, knowing, trusting, that Sam had to be safe.

He heard a scream over the wind. "Jake…." Sam's scream turned wordless, a wordless plea that turned his blood cold. 

He heard her scream, and just like that, the snow disappeared with every step he took towards the sounds that were reverberating in his mind. The snow faded, left him behind. 

The spring that bloomed around him, as he stood on the desert was beautiful. The aridisoil under his boots gave root to life all around him. Jake wanted to throw up. He wasn't wearing his night clothes. The Springsteen t-shirt was gone, and left behind was a blood spattered plaid shirt, rolled up to the elbows and covered in blood, some equine, some human.  

It wasn't a dream anymore. Jake's knees started to shake. 

Blackie was there, looking at him reproachfully. Jake looked down at his hands, ripped up and bleeding, and all he could think was, "I did this." 

Blackie agreeed, with wide, shock-blown eyes. 

The screaming reverberated in his ears. He fell to his knees on the spring range as time grew muddled, skipping over moments not even his dreams would bring up anymore, hearing nothing, nothing but paramedics he'd known all of his life forgetting their composure and saying too much, too fast for him to really make out the words.

He felt like he was Jacob Marley, left to watch a horrid scene unfold. This time, though, this time he was no dispassionate observer. He was living this, all over again. He could not see, could not move. He could only hear, and feel. 

There was still more noise. It shook him to his core.

He could not do this again.  She was still screaming. Time was standing still. The scream curdled his blood, but he missed them in the eerie silence that followed.

The silence stretched on as Jake was frozen. In reality, he knew had not stopped moving. He had never stood still, not yet, not then. But he was now, was standing still as sirens blared, as he heard his mother try to calm Grace, as he saw Wyatt's heart break. He was awash with emotions like God was boiling down moments into a single second, and forcing him to live them again. 

Jake saw that he was leaning over Sam's body, praying and pressing, begging God to speed up time. Every second that passed was a decade. 

All he could see are the looks on their faces, and the blood on his hands. He could feel his own blood pressure dropping, his head spinning. He could feel it all. There were hands gently pulling him upwards, pulling him away. He pushed the arms away, over the screaming. It was his own voice now, yelling and it was his tears splattering the blood on his hands.

Jake knew he had to keep applying pressure, but they just kept pulling him away. He was using, he realized, his jacket, to slow the bleeding on a ragged gash on Sam's stomach. He could do nothing to slow the internal bleeding that he knew was happening. He just knew that every drop of blood that was saturating his jacket was blood that would not be sent to her organs, her brain, her heart. 

Jake felt the earth digging into his body as he pressed as hard as he could. This wasn't real, he told himself, this couldn't be real. Not again. The first time, the first time, the real time, he had felt her body under his fingers, been able to hear the screaming stop, see the look in her eyes as she faded from reality. This time, it was like she wasn't even there, like he had lost her. 

Jake knew that he had to get her back. 

"Her BP is dropping like a stone in a bucket, Hamilton!" Jake heard that same voice for the thousandth time through a tinny fog, from right next to him, "ETA?" It was not his father's voice. It should have been, and not his idiot colleague who ate bologna even as he lectured people about heart health. "I said get him  _out_!" Gary almost screamed, as Hamilton was there, readying bags.

Someone pulled him back, hard, and Jake stumbled, pushing back as he was dragged away, pulled by forces he knew but could not name. 

Dad was not allowed to take the lead with his own family. Hamilton was an idiot. Hamilton was an idiot, who didn't even know that head injuries increased the risk of morbidity and mortality when people got hypertensive. Hamilton didn't even know about all of the changes in practices, or the concerns about hemodilution. What little blood she had was being diluted and it could increase the risk of clots. They could even be causing a clotting disorder. Jake knew he was either silent, or screaming. He could not tell which. 

But they had to stop the bleeding. The quibbles didn't matter. They had to stop it. He was losing her. Jake heard his ears ringing as Quinn's arms came around him after Hamilton said something about getting him the fuck out of here so they could handle her hypothermia.

Fucking Hamilton. Stupid. Stupid. 

Acidosis. Hypothermia. Coagulopathy. If she was hypothermic, it meant that her ability to clot was nearly gone and what little blood she had would be gone, spilling onto the ground, onto the blue gloved fingers that were helping her to fight for her life. Why did she have to be cold? Why had her skin felt like paper? Why had his cell phone signal been spotty?

Why, God, why? 

God wasn't listening. That much he knew.

He heard the swoop of the chopper in the distance. People were running around, creating boundaries that would allow the chopper to land in the expansive spaces that were dotted by fences.

Jake heard the slamming doors of cars as the wind picked up. He wanted to move, wanted somehow to do something. He knew that he should be trying to break the barriers now. He had gotten to her once before, interrupted their movements, once before. He had broken past Quinn once before, when this was real, but in his nightmare he was even more powerless. 

Jake didn't hear the next words, but he knew what they were. His mind was revolting as it fractured. Her brain was trying to protect her soul. Her brain was trying to protect her in a way that he had not. Hypovolemic shock was one of the worst signs, ever, and Jake knew that he was losing her. She needed someone to stop the bleeding. All around him there was life, and the one life that mattered was slipping away.

She was bleeding out profusely. There was blood everywhere. Jake knew that she was trying to breathe, and that her heart rate was increasing so that what little blood she had left would be pushed around, fighting constriction to get more blood to her vital organs. Her kidneys were holding onto fluid, and her oxygen, what little was left, was turning her as cold and blue. Jake shook when he realized that she must be cold. That fact alone was the hardest to accept.

She hated to be cold. Hamilton and Gary and Mark and Tony and…they didn't know that. 

He had to do something. He shoved at Quinn, shoved as hard as he could, but his brother wouldn't let him go, wouldn't let him get closer. He tried to shove harder but he left a smear of blood on Quinn's arm.

He had tried to get to her, tried to do what he could. He knew something, but he didn't know how to handle this helplessness, this fault. "Jake, stop!" Quinn said, far away and commanding, "Stop."

The voice shook his brain. Jake wanted Quinn to stop. "Stop!" He knew he had screamed it, screamed it loud. 

Jake shook his head and yanked away, uncaring of anything else. "They can help her!" Quinn insisted, "You have to stop!"

He shoved Jake down again, and turned back to the cuts on his hand from where the end of the broken gate had sliced into him as he'd gotten it off of her and Blackie. Their blood mixed together.

Jake tried to pull his hand away. Quinn didn't need to be worried about him. 

Quinn grabbed his palm roughly. Quinn's grip was almost bruising. "Let me treat you, or we'll pull one of them off of her. You don't want that." Quinn said. "I can't…and…" 

Jake could not breathe. Jake ripped off a pice of tape with the hand that was shaking, but Quinn wouldn't let go, wouldn't take the fucking tape.

Someone was calling out for fluids as they started a second line. Jake watched it happen, watched the blanket flutter in the wind. 

Her blood pressure was dropping because she didn't have enough blood left in her body, and it was all his fault.

He had lost her. Sobs tore from his throat. Her heart was shutting down. That big, giving, wonderful heart, was shutting down in front of them all and there was nothing he could do. It didn't seem fair that he was sweating when he knew that she had to be cold. She hated being cold. Why was it so cold? Why couldn't it have been warm for her?

_Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?_

_Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality._

_Mama, just killed a man,_

_Put a gun against his head,_

_Pulled my trigger, now he's dead._

_Mama, life had just begun, but now I've gone and thrown it all away._

_Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth._

_Bohemian Rhapsody_ , Queen

He could not move. He could not move. He was literally paralyzed, frozen as the chopper took off.

His ears filled with the sound of a heartbeat. It wasn't his, wasn't even human. It was the heart rate of a horse in shock. His heart had frozen in his chest so long ago, each second felt like a decade. A softness filled his senses, and he swore he felt something warm on his face as the moment suddenly sped by.

He knew what was coming. Sam was gone. Sam...was gone. Her name was on his lips and she was gone. He was alone to face this horror that he had caused. After what felt like forever, his father was standing next to him, a deeply sorrowful expression in his eyes.

There was equine blood on his hands, a shattered fence line nearby. How he knew these things he did not know. This was skipping so much, the begging, the screaming, so much, like someone had pushed fast forward on the worst moments of his life. It had come down to the brass tacks of what he had done.

The meaning of the unholstered gun was unmistakable. Jake's hands were shaking. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this, but there was no other option. It was the only choice. Wyatt had given Dad his assent to do what needed to be done. After a cursory examination that told them everything they needed to know, there was one option left, one that Jake could not believe this dream was skipping over.

He wanted to wake up. He could not live through this again. "Wake up!" Something said, "Wake up." 

Jake knew what was happening now. He didn't wake up. 

There was nothing else to be done, he heard Dad say something softly to Quinn. Dad was walking with purpose, back towards the vacated area. This wasn't right, this detail, but...Jake couldn't go there again. This wasn't how this whole thing had gone down, not really. 

He couldn't look at the carnage he had caused, at the broken promises to Sam and Blackie. Sam's blood was on the ground, mixing with the blood of her horse, the horse that he too loved. Jake was going to throw up. "I can't." He couldn't walk away from this, because he owed Sam, and he owed Blackie every ounce of respect he could give, but this was too much. His voice repeated, "I can't."

Dad shot Quinn a look, and removed the safety from his gun, checking quickly for the angles he needed to find. Quinn tried to pull him away. Quinn failed.

He didn't need to be protected from the consequences of his actions. Jake swallowed, feeling very much like the frightened boy he'd been the first time he'd seen this happen, and was at least glad that Blackie wasn't looking his killer in the face as he died. It was for the best, he knew, but he was screaming inside. He knew what he would have to look for, but the idea of touching Blackie's eyes again just shattered something inside of him.

Never again. Never again. He'd done this once, drawn the proverbial X, something dark in his mind said, and he wouldn't do it again. His father looked over at Quinn, and words floated past him.

The gun, somehow, was in Jake's hands. It was cold, cold, and heavy, the meal burning into him as he braced himself. Quinn looked directly at him, and Jake braced himself for the sound that he knew was coming.

It never came. His surroundings filled with light.

_Last night I prayed the Lord my soul to keep_

_Then I cried myself to sleep_

_So sure life wouldn't go on without you_

_But oh this sun is blinding me as it wakes me from the dark_

_I guess the world didn't stop for my broken heart_

_I guess the world ain't gonna stop for my broken heart_

_For My Broken Heart_ , Reba McEntire

 

"Jake!" It was Quinn's voice, from very far away. He hadn't done this the first time, hadn't said anything as they did what they had to do, once it became clear that Jake wasn't walking away. Nobody had really spoken, not then. What had there been to say? "Wake up, buddy. Wake up."

The words grew closer and closer and Jake jolted awake. He was in his bed. He felt clammy, and cold, and stick with sweat, and in pain. His heart was frozen in his chest. He didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to wake up in a world that was meaningless.

At least, in his dreams, Sam had been there. He didn't want to open his eyes. He wanted to stay with Sam, with some part of her. 

Sam's voice cut through his mental fog. "Jake." He sat up then, and the covers that were over him went flying down towards his waist with the quickness of his movements.

His eyes flew open and the lights blinded him as his heart thundered rapidly in his chest.

Sam was there, now, really. She wasn't some figment of his imagination. It was all he could do not to cry. "You're okay." She soothed him, reaching out gently, softly. "It was a dream, okay? It's Friday night, and we've been home for ages and everybody's okay. You're okay, too."

Jake tried to swallow, tried to move his mouth to ask her to come closer still. He couldn't. Quinn pressed a glass of water in his hand. He sipped the water and realized that he hadn't left this bed all night. There had been no trip to the bathroom, no trip to the kitchen, no moment on the porch. The strange glow had come from his mind. It had all been a dream. He hated himself. Jake drained the glass, his heart pounding. "I'm fine."

He wasn't. His voice was starchy. He couldn't lie worth a damn to either of them. Sam's face was filled with compassion, and Quinn's regard was more than he knew how to handle. He wanted to tell Quinn to get out. He had no right, no reason, to be in here. He guessed tonight had been worse than before. He looked at the blinking clock on the bookcase. Its red numbers were dull in the darkness. 3:46.

Jake heard Quinn's jaw crack as he yawned.

Jake felt like he had run ten miles and crawled through glass, like he had relived every second of that day. Sam hadn't been Sam in that dream, when she was reciting verbatim snippets from studies that he'd committed to his memory.

It was his brain doing this, not her. Jake didn't know where to look or what to do. Sam was fixing the blankets that he'd, it seemed, shoved off the bed. She tucked the sheet back under the corner of the bed, using her hip and her knees to keep her balance against the bed. She wobbled, until she had to catch her  balance with her hands, and her nightgown bunched. She cursed softly.

She was alive.

It still shook him, waking up praying that she wasn't dead, to finding her alive.

It had been ages, but the emotional upheaval was just as strong. He still could not trust his brain.

Sam looked up from the edge of the bed and pushed her hair back behind her ear. "Did I hurt you?"

Sam shook her head. He could read her facial expression over the glare of the lamps. She turned her wrist upwards gently. He almost missed the message she sent with the gesture. Bears, she asserted, protected their own.

Quinn interrupted their conversation, covering his own behind, and maybe Jake's too. "Sam just came in here, Jake. Mom came in here just after Sam did, you know. You were just dreaming. Mom went to get you a washcloth." Jake realized that he was covered in sweat.

Jake realized that Quinn had heard Mom coming, because she was in the room and fussing before the last of the words left Quinn's mouth. Jake looked down at the small scar on his hand that came from the cut in his hand that had never healed because he'd torn it open making a grave marker, hating that the only truths his brain held onto her were the painful ones.

Blackie was dead. And he had pulled the trigger. 

 _Shell-shocked and immune_  
_There was nothing else to do_  
_And ever since the day_  
_We've never been the same_  
_Hollow and afraid_  
_Ever since the day_

 _Ever Since The Day_ , Chris Trapper

Jake was trembling, though he hid it almost too well. It was Saturday, the Day.

She did not feel happy. She did not feel anything but worry for Jake, and the guilt and the self-loathing that swelled within her. He'd passed his PTSD off as a silly dream.

Sam knew better.

She knew what his nightmares were like, knew that his tears and her name spilling from his lips in a broken plea only meant one thing, knew that he had relived moments she sometimes selfishly praised God she had missed and other times would have given anything to be there and take that burden from him, so that Jake would understand that the fault and the blame and the action had been hers alone.

He wasn't talking, and all she could do was be supportive and try to be there.

Sam didn't sleep after waking up. She burrowed into Jake and tried not to cry. She had done this to him, however indirectly, had forced his hand to end the life of a horse they loved. She had stomped on his soul. In the dark, she ventured, "I need to know everything, Jake."

His hand skated up and down her back slowly, as though he was reassuring himself that she was really there. There was a kind of desperate need in his touch that was underscored by fear and love. "You do."

Sam put her head back down on his chest, and wiggled her feet against him, glad that she could do it. "I just want to help you."

"This isn't yours to carry, Sam." Jake repeated as he had a thousand times before, "Go back to sleep." Sam wasn't too pleased by the commanding tone he adopted.

She knew that he was trying to protect her, but there was so much that she didn't know. She needed to know. She wanted him to know that whatever he said, that he would only find acceptance. None of this had been his fault.

Sam frowned, and let them lapse into silence. They didn't sleep.

Sometime later, Jake started to talk, in the way he always did before he settled in for the night. "You've been talking to me in my dreams."

"Nice things, I hope." Sam ventured, knowing that they weren't nice at all. Sometimes, he still woke up screaming and didn't remember it in the morning. He wouldn't find them so triggering if they were just a random dream.

Jake tilted towards her and in the dark, confined space of their bed, she felt his cool hand slide under her sleepshirt. She encouraged it, welcomed the contact. Normally, he kept his hands to himself in bed, however much she might wish otherwise. Obviously, he just needed the comfort. Sam tried to keep breathing as his fingers curled gently over her hip, his long fingers resting in the hollow of her waist. The roughness of his palm as it cupped her hip almost possessively felt a thousand times better like this, skin to skin, than it had any other way.

"You quote studies, actually." He corrected, "Have for weeks." Sam tried to fill the space between them. Her nightgown bunched, but Sam didn't mind the seam that was annoying her. It was largely obliterated by the feeling of Jake's hands on her body.

Sam smiled against Jake's skin as tears filled her eyes, "Think maybe I'll become a librarian?"

She was trying to keep this light. She didn't want to ask why his mind was going there. Why was she, in his mind, a font of information? He had read all of the studies, done all of the research, not her. She had merely tried to live. He had done his best to help her give that life meaning in a world that often felt meaningless and devoid of good. What was the significance of these dreams, and why hadn't he mentioned them before? Maybe he saw some connection there. She didn't know.

The warmth, sleepy and cuddly, that had been around them returned, and begged Sam to sleep. Jake's body heat was intoxicating. Jake's fingers tightened just a little bit. Sam was desperate to keep the soft smile that danced over her skin on his face. She had caused this darkness, and she had to battle it, carry the consequences of it. He was falling asleep, clearly her touch had relaxed him a little. "Hm..." He allowed, "Maybe the kind with a secret room behind her bookcases."

Sam stayed awake, long after Jake's breathing evened out and he curled his body around hers. She had done this, left a trail of heartbreak and destruction behind her, and no amount of anything could change the past. She could not control the accident now, she knew that, but it was all compounded and it hurt.

Aunt Sue had told her, on the day she left, that she was brave, that she was strong, for going back, for doing the things that Sue never could, but Sam didn't feel that way. Sue did not blame her for leaving San Francisco. She had stood by her word, and helped Sam to do what she thought would make her happy.

And, slowly, over time, it had. She was happier than she had been in some time, but it was killing Jake, and it wasn't doing her father any favors. She had no right to be happy, not with the stain of her actions on her soul. She had to admit them to herself, she could not hide and lie and deny things anymore.

Sam sank into Jake's embrace, let him almost cuddle underneath her. She put her head into the crook of his neck, and sighed. He mumbled in his sleep, and looped an arm around her. She had to grow up. She couldn't allow her hopes and her failures to crush Jake.

Obviously, they were moving too fast for him, emotionally or physically, she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure she liked either of those things. She couldn't bear his emotional withdrawal. They had dealt with that for weeks with Ella, and she wasn't willing to go back to that crushing aloneness, that awful feeling of having him next to her, but knowing that he was shutting her out because he couldn't feel their connection. That had been the hardest part of recovery. He'd been pulling away, and only Ayers and Ella and their commitment to each other had pulled them through.

But a physical withdrawal, while less harmful, would hurt too, and not just sexually. Touch was a powerful communicator, and if she lost that between them, some part of her heart and soul would wither. His touch was one of the few sensations that didn't hurt, was one of the few sensations she could trust. 

Jake's wide palm pressed softly into her back. He had always been cuddly in his sleep, always wrapped her up, always gave of himself like this. She did not think she could bear to lose it. She knew that she would, though.

She had pushed and pushed and her loss was her own fault. Here it was, Saturday, and Sam was surrounded by the damage she had caused in the lives of those she loved. 

_Try to kill it all away but I remember everything_

_What have I become, my sweetest friend?_

_Everyone I know goes away, in the end_

_And you could have it all_

_My empire of dirt_

_I will let you down, I will make you hurt_

_And you could have it all_

_My empire of dirt_

_I will let you down, I will make you hurt_

_Hurt,_  Johnny Cash

Sam got out of the bed slowly, her heart too full, and found some sweatshirt Jake had tossed over his desk. She slid it on and padded downstairs. Sam knew that her heart was breaking. 

Max was making coffee.

Sam was still trying not to cry. Seeing this comforting image was almost too much. It was comforting only in its edges, in the facade of it. The truth of the matter was that Max was up, looking worn and world weary, because of something she had done.

Max looked up at her, surprise coloring her features as she sat down at the table. Sam stood there feeling her bare feet on the chilly wood. Her voice cracked, "Do you hate me?" She could barely put the question out there, so heavy were the tears she wasn't shedding. Sam felt a blush steal over her body.

"Hate you?" Max replied, "Honey, nobody hates you." Sam fisted her hands in the extra material of the sweatshirt she was wearing. She cleared her throat, and tears slid hotly from her eyes.

Jake's voice rang in her ears. She heard him telling her that it was impossible to hate her. She wished that were true. She knew the truth.

Sam took the tissue out of the pocket of the sweatshirt. Jake didn't use them. He carried them around for her, because she never had any, and she always found herself needing one, and she never bothered to put any in her pockets.

Her body shook with a suppressed sob. Her heart was breaking, and she was surprised because she hadn't known there was anything whole enough left to shatter.

She had done this to him, broken him, destroyed everything. She had done this, now or then, it didn't matter. She had done this.

A wave of dizziness nearly knocked her over. She tripped, nearly falling as she sank onto a bench. Sam didn't know how to breathe through the riot in her mind. She inhaled raggedly, leaning against the table, praying that this would end. It was pain, pain like electric shocks, like her soul was being shaken, pain that stole her sense of balance and sense of place. 

Sam knew she was going to fall off of the bench. She didn't care. Her body curved inward, and she tried to grip the bench with a sweaty palm as her legs shook and her stomach lurched. 

There was such a weary sadness in Max's embrace as she hugged her, supported her weight. "It's okay, Sammy."

Sam didn't say that Max's touch was too much stimulation. Her touch was light, fleeting. She wouldn't press, and Sam didn't have the words to ask her to do it. Sam was so dizzy that she could barely keep herself from gagging, or screaming, screaming to insert some kind of order into the world around her. 

The dizziness faded after an indeterminate amount of time. She tried to stop crying, but that only served to make her cry harder. "I did…I...this to him. To everyone. Why do I ruin everything that matters?" Sam blurted, unaware that she had come to the heart of her feelings.

She ruined everything, and she did not want to ruin Jake's love for her. It occurred to her that she had already hurt him in a thousand ways, and it was only a matter of time before she sucked out his soul and left him a broken shell or he ended any relationship between them because she was what she was, and no one could live their lives being obliterated by the darkness and the selfishness she cared within herself.

Her accident, her TBI, her foolishness, her choices, had ruined everything. She had insisted on riding today, on proving that she had not given up or lost anything that really mattered. She had. This had changed her. This had changed her, made her someone else, and Sam could not be the person that Jake deserved to have in his life. 

He deserved more. He deserved things she had no capacity to give, or to help him find. She could not even be impassive. She did nothing but take and hurt and destroy. 

She had even done that to her father. He had been plagued by this, by her need for care, care even when she was seconds away from being grown and gone. She had wanted things from him in the aftermath of the accident that he had not wanted to give, and she had tried to take anyway. To Gram, to Max, to Luke, to her brothers. To everyone. 

But it was Jake, Jake because of his love for her, their proximity, who bore the burden of her selfishness. 

"Sam." Max tried to be soothing.

Sam didn't understand how she could be in the same room with her. She'd ripped the entire family in two, torn down every relationship she had, and thrown up walls between Luke and Dad that were plainly evident.

And yet, Luke was gentler on her than he had ever been before, and Max was so confusing, at once disapproving and caring.

She understood the disapproval now, just as she understood Gram's desire for her to be normal and forget what she'd done, as though ignoring the truth would make it go away. She also understood that it would never be. She shook with another sob as she thought about the ashes of her relationship with her father. She knew that whatever they were building again was only going to crumble. She couldn't go through all of that again.

There was nothing left hidden away to hold onto in the dark of the night.

"Look at what I've done to the people I love, Max. Look at what I did." Sam forced out, unable to really face it now that she could no longer unsee it. She saw the truth, and it blinded her. 

All around her were remnants of what ought to have been, and no matter how she blocked it, things came through at all times and in all places. She had caused unforgivable things to happen. Now she better understood why Dad had wanted her to stay in San Francisco without Jake. She had been to weak and selfish to see it, but Dad must have been trying to protect Jake. If only she had seen that the world did not revolve around her, and that his needs had to come before her own, they wouldn't be in this mess and he could heal.

"You did not do this, Sam. You take too much on yourself." Max corrected her gently, passing Sam another tissue as she blew her nose and saw that there was blood in her mucous, not much, but enough to know that she had to pay careful attention to her nebulizer dosages. "Whatever you're thinking, you know that this is nobody's fault, least of all yours."

"You're not the one who insisted..." Sam put the words out there, not able to explain that she had never meant for this to happen. Intentions didn't matter, because she was on the road to hell and she'd paved her own distraction with the best of intentions. "You're not the one who goes through life just killing the people you live. I killed Blackie.." The words were like ice to her heart. She repeated them internally in the dark of the night, but had never, never spoken them aloud. It hurt. The truth always did."You're not the one whose actions changed everything because you were too stupid and too stubborn to listen to somebody you love."

Sam's words floated away as she cried, wrapping her arms around herself as her feet dug into the floor until they became numb, numb like they typically were.

Blackie was dead. He was dead. Sam knew that, had known it for weeks, and had refused to acknowledge it. Last night, she'd heard the hoofbeats on the range, somehow, and known that his were not there, no matter how she tried to buy into carefully crafted delusions.

It had hit her as Jake screamed awake. She knew what he was dreaming about. She knew, and it was time she stopped hiding from it all. She knew now that there was no hope of hiding from the truth of the discussions Dad had been having with that woman. There had been nothing to say about Blackie. It had been something else. "I've killed him."

In one way or another, she had killed some vital part Jake's innocence, his trust in himself and in the world around him. She had hurt him so badly. He was resilient and was recovering because that's the kind of person he was, not because of her presence, no matter how much he might imply otherwise. 

Jake had been the one to tell her that Blackie was dead, in that period of time when they were in San Francisco. It had come to light in Ella's office, because, she later found out, Jake was afraid of what she might do to herself once she knew for sure what no one was saying and Dad was too cowardly to tell her. He'd had cause to be, because those days were some of the blackest of her life, and the suicidal thoughts had very nearly become actions in those moments and hours.

She did not want to go down that road.

"So don't tell me that there is anything..." Sam broke off, her voice harsh and hoarse. It was too painful to go on. "That would ever forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive you about, Sammy." Max said, softly. Sam looked at Max shimmer through the veil of her tears. "Nobody believes that any of this was any more than a horrible, horrible, accident that you did not cause. Nobody can forgive you, because there is nothing to forgive. You've got to believe that, and forgive yourself, baby."

Sam knew that that was a load of bunk. It was five something, almost six, in the morning. She was stupid and foolish and broken, sobbing her heart out as the sun rose. Its rays illuminated her brokeness and her failures. It was another sunrise that Blackie would never see, and another sunrise that Jake welcomed because he could stave off the nightmares.

Sam heard Luke coming downstairs and knew that Max had to be about getting his breakfast out. He, like Dad, was often up before everyone else except Max or Gram, though Quinn insisted they woke up early enough themselves. He was only teasing.

Sam's head felt almost as heavy as her heart. Her tears petered out, and she was left with a raw throat and a puffy face to match her stuffy nose. The silence wasn't heavy around them.

After a while, Max allowed the silence to change the subject. "Do you want some tea, Sam?"

Sam shook her head. "I'm just going to plug in my humidifier and go back to bed." She stood, and felt wobbly. It had been a rough night, and Sam nearly threw up. Sam passed Luke on the stairs. He took in her puffy eyes and worn face, and Sam knew instantly that he'd heard her crying.

Sam moved past him before he could say anything. There was nothing to say. People said that killers had no heart, and maybe most didn't, but Sam's knew hers couldn't take anything more, black though it was. 

 

_And if the dam breaks open many years too soon and if there is no room upon the hill_

_And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too_

_I'll see you on the dark side of the moon_

_The lunatic is in my head_

_You lock the door and throw away the key_

_There's someone in my head but it's not me._

_And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear_

_You shout and no one seems to hear_

_Brain Damage_ , Pink Floyd

Sam went to the bathroom, and brushed her teeth after she pulled of Jake's sweatshirt. His woodsy scent was too painful at the moment. Her face was quickly washed with a rag she pulled off of the rack. She felt gummy, despite her shower hours before. Jake's sweat had mingled with her own during the night, and she knew she didn't smell like flowers or even a clean nothingness.

She couldn't shower because Quinn was in the bathroom with the shower chair she had here. She still wasn't steady enough to stand in the shower, but at least now she could get herself in and out without someone standing outside the door. Sam stared at herself in the mirror, and she realized that tonight, some part of her shell had cracked. She could no longer hide from the truths, no longer hide or excuse or mask her pain. She had stripped herself bare and she wasn't sure she could live with what she saw.

Still, Sam breathed out as she gripped the sink, she had to know where she was to know where she was going. She had to keep going, so that she had less chance of falling back into holes like the one she had fallen into tonight. Sam realized that she had gained some things and she had a lot to lose. She was improving, slowly, and there were things that had changed that she wasn't going to gamble.

She teared up again thinking about losing Jake and being sent back to San Francisco.

Going back wouldn't change what she had done. She knew that it was a possibility if she didn't square up and fly right. She had too much to lose this time, because she knew what it was not to have what she had, knew what she stood to lose, knew that her losses would crush her because there was no chance of hiding or recovering again. She didn't have the strength to stand up again.

She couldn't fall down, didn't have the strength to let her knees even buckle, so she had to keep going. There were no other options because she did not want to die, and one more relapse into despair would probably be the end of her. There was nothing good left in her that could withstand more pain.

 _You put together all the pieces of the puzzle_  
So one more lie would be a waste of my breath  
It's too late now for me to start being truthful  
No amount of regret could win back your love

_Only a fool could break something so sacred_

_And begging forgiveness won't right the wrong_  
_You see it's easier said than done_  
Easier Said than Done, Radney Foster 

Jake woke up quickly, wanting to put as much time and space between last night as he possibly could. His stomach rolled with hunger, and his head pounded with tiredness. He reached out for Sam, but he knew that she wasn't there. He glanced at the clock.

 _Jeez_. He sat up, and closed his eyes in prayer. It seemed that, no matter what he did, the good in his life was always going to be haunted by the bad in equal measure.

Jake wandered down the hall, and slid into his bathroom. Well, okay, it was the bathroom in the hall but he didn't have to share it with three of his brothers, so it was his by default. He opened the door, and Sam was standing in front of the sink, scrubbing at her hands."What...?" Jake began.

Sam looked up, and he saw what she was doing as she scrubbed and scrubbed. She was playing with the soap on her fingers. It was the foaming stuff she'd made before the accident. She was washing her hands very carefully. The pump bottle was sitting on the edge of the sink. This was one of the odder moments of his life, but he couldn't help but be happy about it. She was alive. Strange and confusing, but alive. "My brain...is interpreting the suds..." She shrugged, and admitted when she wiggled her fingers, though he did not take her meaning. "And I just can't get them clean."

Jake moved inward to start up the water. Her hands were slick with the soap. It didn't hinder him in taking that same hand to try and see what she couldn't get off of her hands.

She was still so slight that her hesitation was hardly noticeable. He did notice, however, the way her grip tightened and her eyes fluttered shut. She liked the way the soap felt on her skin.

It was one of those sensory things. His mind would never understand it, but to see that look on her face, that soap was his favorite thing ever. Her senses were giving her heightened pleasurable feedback, much like they did when something felt wrong to her. Things in her mind were either very good, or very bad, which explained why she couldn't get her hands clean. Maybe there was some dirt that she had already cleaned off, but her brain was clinging to, somehow. There was almost nothing in between, and he swore that he lived for these reactions, these good ones, not the ones that caused her to recoil in pain and terror.

The fact that she found such joy in a simple action humbled him, and fueled the fire in his blood. Sam bit her lip as he deliberately ran a thumb over the back of her palm. It was all he could do to let her go as she rinsed her hands.

Jake wasn't really taken by surprise when Sam caught his eye in the mirror, and turned around quickly. Her back pressed into the sink and she wrapped her arms around him as he took a half-step forward in the bathroom that could barely be called small. "Can I kiss you?" 

Sam answered the soft question with action, looping her arm around his neck. Her eyes were searching his face, and there was a softness about her in this moment that contrasted the urgency and the passion in the pace she set. 

Each time they kissed felt perfect to him, perfect, even when it was awkward and messy and not quite right. Her body was soft and warm, as soft and warm as her lips as they parted. Jake deepened the kiss and felt his pleasure build as Sam made a soft sound of encouragement.

God, he loved her, and was very probably obsessed with her on every level. It was a soft embrace of greeting, underpinned by the desperation they both knew they were each feeling. It was prayer and blessing and reassurance and escape and reality. She was here, they were here, however ragged and broken, they were here. Jake wasn't going to let himself forget that, wasn't going to stop celebrating that they had survived. 

It wasn't very healthy, he knew, to pull back with a ragged breath, look her in the eye, and say, "I thought we agreed that you were going to wake me up if you left." Jake couldn't stop touching her, couldn't bring himself to stop feeling some kind of primal rush as his hands spanned portions of her body. He wasn't going to wake up alone like that, not if they could help it. The fact that she had been there last night had saved him from so much of himself.

He wished he knew how to tell Sam how much she saved him, saved him and gave him a reason to find his own reasons to go on. 

Sam's toes curled into the tile and she blinked. "You said. I didn't disagree. You needed the sleep, and I couldn't..." Sam blinked again, and Jake realized that she had been crying. There was just something about the inflection in her voice, in the sorrow that was lingering in her eyes.

"It's not your fault." Jake promised. Sam's indrawn breath told him everything he needed to know. It was too controlled, too much the trained effort of a person recovering from a TBI. 

She was trying to keep things together. Jake wiped a tear away, one that slipped out from underneath her eyelids. The tear dried on his thumb.

Sam breathed. "Just a tough night. It's nothing. We're only on edge." Sam put her head on his chest over the turtle tattoo that guarded his heart, and swore, "We'll be okay."

Jake rubbed her back, feeling the slightness of her back. She had a spine of stone, bones of granite, to stand here like this, so open to both the joy and the pain that life threw at her. She took it all head on, and stood firm.

Jake wanted to ask her if she was sure she wanted to do this. He wanted to do it, wanted to bring up a thousand conversations they'd had over the last few weeks. He gathered, though, that the time for talking was past. They'd said all that there could be to say, and now they had to live, somehow. They had to act when talking had gotten them both this far. Sometimes, actions really did speak louder than words, and this was one of those times.

All the same, Jake let his lips rest in her hair, and held her while soft sobs racked her body.

_But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?_

_And if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like, you've been here before?_

_How am I gonna be an optimist about this?_

_How am I gonna be an optimist about this?_

_Pompeii,_  Bastille

Back at River Bend, Sam took another shower. She drained the snow melt as she sat under the hot water, uncaring about shutting it off to soap up. She made it as hot as she could stand, until her skin turned pink and her flesh burned when she shut off the water. She was doing this. The time for crying had passed. She had to find her space in the world, and sometimes, actually doing it was the only way to get it done.

She owed this to Blackie. Now that she had done as Ella had asked and admitted that he was gone, there was nothing in her mind to hold it back as her lungs froze. Grief wasn't a linear process.

Sam got out of the shower. She knew what to do, almost down to an art, now, even if she was somewhat tense and thereby unsteady due to her emotions. She shut off the water, and pushed back the curtain. Moving carefully, she reached for the towel she'd placed on the sink just next to the shower. She could not see it, but her fingers caught the towel on the edge of the basin. Sam dried off her legs, ignoring the waves of dizziness that washed over her, made her shiver, as she paid careful attention to her left foot because of the neuropathy.

Without setting it down again, she threw the towel back onto her lap and put her foot over the edge of the tub. Rotating quickly, her foot found purchase on the towel she'd put down before she got in. She repeated the process for her right foot. Sam then let go of the shower chair with her right hand and reached out for the wall, pulling herself up to standing using the tiled wall that surrounded three sides of the tub. She got her nose over her waterlogged toes, and exhaled. 

Once she was on her wobbling feet, she stepped towards the covered toilet and sat down. After a mindless moment of letting herself rest, Sam threw on a clean nightgown and padded down the hall to her room.

At least she had learned to breathe while she walked. 

Progress. 

_So don't call him a cowboy until you've seen him ride_

_'Cause a Stetson hat and them fancy boots_

_Don't tell you what's inside, no_

_Don't Call Him a Cowboy_ , Conway Twitty

Now came the challenging part. Sam had lived her life in jeans. Now, though, putting them was a challenge unlike any other. She had to sit down and bend down to slid her feet into them and pay such attention to pointing her feet. The denim tangled and she had to do it twice. When they were finally over her feet, Sam stood, glad that her hair was drying into a fluffball of frizz by that point, and began to pull and pull the fabric. They came up easily, her hips no longer an impediment to clothing. Sam reached into the waistband to unfold the zipper from the side, and missed her hips, missed the feeling she used to feel when she put on jeans.

Sam buttoned them easily. In days past, she'd needed Jake's help to do it. She didn't anymore, not honestly. He never minded standing behind her, and reaching around her to do up the button with what soon became practiced ease. It had beat having to ask Edye. These pants were snug enough for riding, not too snug, not too low. They were the one pair of jeans she'd picked out in the store with Sue. She had no idea how to pick jeans that weren't suited for riding. Shoving the thought away, Sam pulled on a shirt.

She avoided the mirror as she carefully brushed her hair and pulled a hank of it back with a clip. She opened the closet door, and found a box that she had shoved aside. She pulled it out and hauled it, with rigid arms, to her bed. Sam opened the box, and ignored her her journal. She did not look at the various pieces of her life as she reached down into the box and pulled out her hat. It wasn't like she was going to be able to read and understand it fully. Her reading fluency and comprehension sucked, and she did not want to be confronted with not only the truths of the world she had once lived in, or with her present inability to even understand that world or her place she had once had in it. 

The high crowned, wide brimmed hat was still alive with memories. Sam shook her head at her foolishness, and wiggled her bare toes against the wood flooring. Hats were not alive. 

She shoved the hat back in the box. Her fingers shook as she shoved the box shut, and her nerves screamed as her fingers scraped against the box.

Sam put the whole thing out of her mind, and spent the next 15 minutes putting on her socks and boots. She slid to the edge of her bed, planted her palm, and leaned down. Her socks were low cut athletic socks. She couldn't pull tube socks or even ankle socks over her ankles and caves and feet, so she opted for the risk of ankle rub to be able to put on her own socks. 

It took her ten minutes to get both socks on. She almost fell off the bed twice, dropped the sock countless times, until she got so frustrated and forceful that it went flying. It was all she could do not to scream as she finally got the socks on because she could not bend her leg, or bend down to her foot and make her hands work. 

This was an improvement. Sam had figured out long ago that she had to put her foot into her boot, and then pick up her foot and partially on boot and put it stirght down so that her knee could push her foot down into the boot. This process required that the boot's opening lined up with the angle of her foot so that it would slide in. Most days she did okay with this part, because she could just jam her foot in, if the leather did not block her way. 

She yanked on the laces so hard that her fingers burned with the sensation that the laces left there. Sam fixed the break of her jeans, and reached up to fix her chest so that they sat correctly before she remembered that the contents of her bra weren't so much of a concern anymore. She pulled down her top tightly over her jeans and stood. The break crumpled a bit.

Sam was as ready as she'd ever be. Sam's eyes were dry as her heart skipped a beat. There would be no entry in Blackie's log today. Sam pulled back, and tried to believe, like Ella had said, that he would have wanted her to live. He didn't live a life of regret and hate, no, that was all on her. Sam sat down on her bed and stared at her boots.

How had her life turned out like this?

She felt like Linc Slocum must, getting all dressed and knowing all to well that it was all a facade.

How had she come to feel that there was nothing left inside to say, nothing she could bear to think? How could she just keep mindlessly going, somehow knowing that survival was only found in the next step, and the next one after that, like she was injured again and her mind was telling her to get up and move. She carried a load of guilt and pain so heavy that it almost crushed her, but the idea of letting it go made her feel guiltier.

She understood now why she hated the death penalty. Sitting in jail, she figured, was the worse punishment, outside of a few rare cases. This guilt was her jail, and she held the key. She just didn't have the ability to do anything about it. She could not change what she had done, and she owed Blackie the respect of not trying. 

Sam picked up the journal she had left on the bed. It was heavy. 

 _Oh, they say she died one winter when there came a killing frost_  
And the pony she named Wildfire  
Busted down her stall, in a blizzard she was lost  
She ran calling Wildfire, calling Wildfire, calling Wildfire

 _Wildfire,_  Michael Martin Murphey

Understanding, she hoped, would come later. Sam opened the box again to put away the journal, and let her fingers graze her hat. On an impulse that was nothing short of self-punishing, she picked up the hat and carried it to her mirror.

Just then, a car door slammed. She had not even heard it come over the bridge.

It was time. With trembling fingers, she put the hat on her head. The hat fell down over her eyes.

Sam accepted the meaning behind this moment, even as she understood the facts that created the symbolism. She no longer had too much thick hair to hold it up. Sam pulled off the hat, and set it on the dresser.

 Putting on old clothes didn't make her a time traveler, and putting on jeans and a hat didn't make her the person she wanted to be, and what was worse, everyone would know what a faker she was. She exited the room, unable to carry this game of dress up any farther.

_To sleep would be best, but I just can't afford to rest_

_And the white line's getting longer and the saddle's getting cold_

_I'm much too young to feel this damn old_

_All my cards are on the table with no ace left in the hole_

_I'm much too young to feel this damn old_

_Lord, I'm much too young to feel this damn old_

_Much too Young (To Feel This Damn Old)_ , Garth Brooks

"Don't you want to come, Wy?" The woman said, "You mentioned that you'd like to see..." The woman cut off as Sam's boot thunked on the step.

Sam made an error. She'd forgotten how heavy her boots could be. They had not always felt heavy, but they did now. They clattered on the stair as she tried to softly shift her weight. She had formerly been able to sneak in those boots like her feet were bare.

That was not the case anymore. The woman stopped speaking and Sam had no choice but to reveal herself. She wasn't hiding. She'd only paused when she'd realized that it was not Jake, but that woman, who was here. Sam came down the stairs, and did her best not to grimace at what she saw before her.

Dad's bare left hand was next to the woman's, as though she'd walked in on them touching each other over a cup of coffee. Sam said the first thing that came to her mind, "Where's Gram?"

Sam was desperate to leave the room. The woman was sitting there, her cute button nose and perky self wearing jeans tucked into wellies, as though she'd come over from her garden. Her skin was flushed and she looked so natural and comfortable. Sam hated her ease.

She smiled at Sam, and Sam did not smile back. Dad's eyebrow rose, but he did not own her smiles.

Sam did not hear her father's reply over the woman's bright question. "Hey Sam. How are you?"

Sam figured she made some kind of nonverbal reply that passed muster, because Dad didn't glare at her.

Sam felt very self-conscious in these jeans. She felt exposed, all her hopes and dreams visible along with her shortcomings and failures. They were too clean, and she felt the leg press into her knees as they moved together. Skirts hid her reactions and her weakness.

The woman shared a look with Dad that made her want to gag, "I wanted to make sure I didn't steal your father away this afternoon if you needed him." She twittered, "But then I thought you might like to come along, too."

Sam grew very cold, and her fingers grew as numb as her heart, even though it beat triple time.

The look on Dad's face was indescribable. Sam's throat felt clogged. In some ways, this slip of a girl in front of her had stolen her father and they all knew it. He knew it, else he wouldn't be standing there, looking so guilty, looking as if he'd rather die than hear her answer this question.

Sam made up her mind, in an instant. She knew what she had to say, and for once, she wanted to do this. She wanted it, with some dark intensity that was only matched by the fact that this was killing her. "No. I don't need him." The lie slipped from her lips with a conviction borne of desperation.

She did not like the hurt on her father's face. How dare he be hurt by the truth that had come out of his choices? She might have had asked too much of him, but he had created the context after her injury for her to not need him. He hadn't sat by her bedside and been the man who never cried normally, never cried, and yet cried with her and told her it was okay to cry. 

He'd made this choice, made it long ago. She was only doing the fair thing and telling him that she'd known long ago. She would not stand in the way of his choices. She owed him nothing, but she wanted to give him the knowledge that she knew, had known forever just how this was going to play out in the end.

In the end, she knew she was going to be standing there screaming "Pick me!" inside, like a kid in gym class.

And this moment had come. It was the end. Inside, she was screaming for him to pick her. 

And because it was the end, she knew he never would. 

She swallowed, and met his eyes carefully. "Have fun, Dad." The small concession to the relationship they'd once had was the closest she could ever come to saying all of this to his face. She would never ask him to pick her, because she knew that he never would.

She did not want to sacrifice her last bit of hope by even trying to ask. The let down would be too much.

Sam looked at her father as he sat at the kitchen table that had held sandwiches and tea parties and account books and so much more. Those days were gone. They were gone, and no amount of begging or pleading would ever get them back in any real way that mattered. "You should come along, Sam." Dad all but insisted, even as Brynna had the gall to smile at her.

The salt she'd dumped into the wounds in Sam's heart burned. She felt like she was covered in paper cuts and had just jumped into salt water. Her skin grew tight against her bones. Still, Sam shook her head, "I've actually got plans."

Sam felt defensive. She had a life. If Dad was going to strike out on his own, she could do it, too. She had done it, had succeeded in making her own way. The idea that she was dependent on him rankled.

He didn't want her, but she was expected to be there when he said so, like she was a pair of shoes? Hell no. Rightly or wrongly, she still had some shred of pride. 

The cat lumbered into the room and Sam felt him put his paws on her boots. She did not bend down and pet him, fearful that she might fall from being on her feet for so long. "A word, Sam?"

Dad's expression said it all, said everything his words had not, and she knew that this moment had finally come. It had come when she was least expecting it. Sam squared her shoulders as her father stood, and gestured to the porch.

Sam exited before he did. She didn't want it to be said that she'd followed him, hopped to his bidding. She left the porch, and walked. The woman did not need to overhear this.

_No wonder he loves her, no wonder at all._

_The moment she sees him, her thought is to please him._

_No wonder she's pretty, what else should she be?_

_She hasn't a worry, and why should she worry?_

_When she gets up her biggest decision is figuring out what to wear._

_To pick a blouse, a skirt, and then there's the problem of what should she do with her hair?_

_No wonder he likes it- It's perfect this way_

_No wonder he loves her, what else could he do?_

_No Wonder,_  Barbra Streisand

Sam did not let herself look at her boots. They felt odd. She did not feel like herself in these boots, boots she'd broken in when her feet had stopped growing. Sam saw her father's stride shorten to match her own.

There were no jokes and smiles this time. "Okay?" She began the communication. It couldn't be called a conversation. He never listened anymore.

"There's no cause to be rude. I won't have it. Bryn's been nothing but nice to you." Dad chided.

Had she, had really, ingratiating herself into her home, riding her horses, using her mother's wedding china? Had she really been nice, making it so that there was a wall between her and Dad that no amount of discussion would ever scale, because now Sam knew that she had never really been number one in her father's life at the one moment in time that she had needed nothing more than to believe that fact? How nice of her, indeed.

Sam looked at him, saw that he was controlling a harsh note in his tone. It was defensive. He was defending his girlfriend. How he must love his "Bryn" she thought. He never defended her choices like this. 

"Jake and I have plans, Dad." Sam backpedaled a bit, because she could not bear this crushing weight in her soul. Her father, it seemed, understood that she knew that she was no longer first in his life, and wasn't bothering to hide it.

She wasn't sorry, though, that she was advocating for herself in the same way he was.

Dad stopped, then. He turned and looked at her. "Whatever you've got going on with your friends does not get in the way of family things."

Sam was poleaxed, "I don't see a family here." They were not a family, and going anywhere with him and his girlfriend did not a family make. They would never, ever, be a family. Brynna was nothing to her, _nothing_ , and she would never would be. The assertion that they could all become the Cleavers was absolutely insane.

Dad returned, "You are my daughter."

Sam wanted to wrap her arms around her body, wanted to hide from this hurt. She was his daughter, but that didn't seem to matter to him, except when he wanted to play happy family at Sunday dinner or he needed paperwork done for a ranch he was keen on ripping away when he wasn't playing some kind of mind game to make her feel welcome. She knew better than to think she had any right to a future here, anymore. He was well on his way to a new family.

Sam swallowed. It was best for everyone to have a clean break, a clean ending. She hadn't gotten that once with Blackie, and she knew that the ambiguity would hurt less than this moment now. That was saying something, though.

She was his daughter, but there was a new meaning to the term now, one that was factual and not at all personal. "I know that."

Dad looked square at her, and tried to lay down the law. "And I am telling you that whatever plans you have do not, cannot, cut into family activities."

Fury built inside Sam. Her horses, her life, her plans, were more important than going somewhere with him and his girlfriend and watch him show off while she tried not to throw up or pass out as he did it. "And I am telling you that if you try to keep me from doing this, it will be the last thing you ever say to me." How dare he stand in the way between her and her horses? She didn't say one word about Blue!

She would walk. She would. 

Sam knew that an ending was often an ending in more ways than one. She didn't know what would come next, maybe nothing for her, but the image of walking out did flash through her mind. She knew that she and Jake could figure it out, and had done it for a long time without him when they needed Dad most. If they had survived San Francisco alone, they could survive again.

She did not need Dad. She wanted him in her life, because she was some kind of masochist, and a stupid one at that. She wanted him to be her father. But she did not need him, and if he wanted to ride off into the sunset and play the bachelor with some teenybopper, so be it.

"Sam!" Dad snapped, "Seeing your friends is a privilege, and not a right. That includes Jake. I would consider your choices carefully, Miss."

Oh, if he thought this was about Jake and not the horses, well, that was a whole other can of worms that Sam was happy to open. If he wanted to go there, they would. As if Jake could ever be put in some category like that, as if he was somehow less than woman because Dad said so.

 Sam knew that he had tried to split her and Jake up. If he thought for a single second that he would even win at that, he had a truckload of information headed his way. It wasn't like she didn't know what had gone down. Silent as he could be, she and Jake did actually communicate. 

They had a relationship built on honesty, trust, and shared experiences. 

Sam was as brutally honest as she could ever be. She said what she said, and she wasn't going to be sorry for her honesty, even as she knew it made her far to vulnerable to a person she would rather die than be emotional in front of. "I haven't asked you to choose, you know."

Dad started to ask what she meant. She saw the words in his eyes, and cut him off before they reached his lips. He wanted to play games, then all bets were off. If he wanted to play games, then she did not owe him the curtsey of kindness. 

The question infuriated Sam, because he darn well knew, what she meant and she continued, "I haven't asked you to choose between Brynna and me. And you know what? I never will. I won't, because I _know_ -" she stressed, "I _know_ , that for whatever reason, that you'd pick her."

Dad had gone almost purple and then white. There was no need to play stupid.

Sam knew. She hadn't quite settled on why. But she knew. 

And it was time that he knew that she knew. 

Sam paused, and asked him, "Did you really think I didn't know, didn't get the message?" She didn't know why he'd pick a girlfriend over his child, but she knew that he had. He had and he would.

Jen's Granny was right. It was foolish to do the same thing and expect different results. They needed to put their cards on the table. A clean break, she thought, a clean break.

"Samantha!" Dad blurted, and Sam went on, hurt and pain and anger mixing in her heart. She swore in her heart in that moment that she would never, ever, pick anyone over her child, if she ever had one.

"You would because you have!" She insisted. He was trying to lie to her, save face. He was trying to hide from the truth. She had learned the hard way that that never worked. The truth always came out, and it hurt worse when you hid from it for too long. "You would! Don't lie to my face." 

People thought she was stupid now. Sam can't read. Stupid. Sam can't find her way. Stupid. Sam can't. Sam can't. Sam can't. 

Well she had news, Sam could. 

Sam fucking well could, and she fucking did not need him to do it. 

She breathed and calmed down, not wanting this to become some kind of fight that he could dismiss because she had been emotional.

This hurt, and she never wanted to have this conversation again, because there was nothing to say after being done. "I haven't asked you to choose. At least give me the same respect."

Dad seemed unconvinced. He was staring at her like he didn't know her, and it was clear that he no longer did. She was a grown woman, had life experiences, and it was clear that he did not see that, did not see how this accident had really changed her, what it really done to her. She was no longer fearful of standing on her own, or being alone, or of being in pain, or of hating herself.

She was no child.

He had always told her to be honest. She wasn't a kid anymore. She had survived on her own without him for too long, and there was no going back to being that little girl who needed her Daddy to make choices. She did not need to be raised, because life had done that the hard way.

Life had said she couldn't. 

Sam had turned around and been forced to prove that she could, or die trying. 

And there was no space left for that little girl even if her heart still wanted a father. 

"Do not, under any circumstances, ask me to choose between you and Jake, Dad. Just don't." It wasn't even a question. It wasn't even something she thought about. "Because even though my answer wouldn't hurt you anymore, I won't hurt Gram like that." That final act of doing what she had to do would hurt her Grandmother, and Sam was tired of seeing Gram in the middle of everything.

 

"Sam!" Dad said.

Sam shook her head. "This is good. You don't have to be sorry. Hey, it is what it is, right?" Sam was honest, even if her caustic tone did become hard and emotionless.  "Because you know what, now we both know exactly where we both stand."

"I guess we do." Dad said, finally. There was nothing left to say.

Still, she opened her mouth. 

Sam heard the creak of the screen door. Brynna was looking across the yard at them. Her red hair fell in waves around her shoulders. She still felt like she was having an out of body experience every time she looked at the woman who had come into her father's life, and it didn't matter why.

Sam decided that, really, there was nothing left to say, and trying to come up with something was only foolishness. She had to let this hope die, so that maybe, some others could live in a world that she knew to be a little more truthful and honest. 

She'd thought that this whole relationship thing with her father was her punishment for killing Blackie, though she could never bring herself to say it. There was no denying it, though. Sam had seen Brynna as her punishment. 

Maybe she was, but Sam was through giving her that kind of power. Some girl Dad knew didn't dictate what she thought or how she felt. Sam was strong enough to own how she felt, strong enough to admit to herself that her horse had died by her actions, that she alone carried those facts and implications.

Sam looked at her father, and saw that there was no emotional attachment left. This dislike of Brynna wasn't personal. It would be the same way with any woman. It was just that Brynna had been the girl her father chose, and it all came down to him.

She didn't like the girl her father was dating. So what? So what, so what, so _what_?

Okay, so maybe that level of nonchalance was pushing it, was a lie in the face of the fire in her blood, but the point became clear as she stood there.

Her story was her own. If she was going to find her own way, she had to do it. Sam squared her shoulders as Gram came back towards the door calling to Brynna, with a sympathetic smile shot over Dad's back.

Dad knew where she stood, where their relationship had crashed and burned and he didn't miss a beat. He called out to Brynna, too brightly, "Got your things, then?" He looked at Sam, "Don't think this is finished."

Sam tilted her chin back, recoiling as though she had been slapped.

Then she stopped. Nothing anyone said would change what was. It was done. There was nothing left to say. There wasn't any resolution to how she felt. Maybe there never would be. Maybe she would never like Dad's girlfriend, or even tolerate her.

Maybe she would always loathe her guts.

Maybe she would always live with the knowledge that her father had picked someone else over her. Maybe. But now she knew that she had no choice but live in spite of her pain.

_She's beautiful in her simple little way_

_She don't have too much to say when she gets mad_

_She understands, she don't let go of anything_

_Even when the pain gets really bad_

_I guess I should've been more like that_

_Well, she's stronger than I am_

_You don't look much like a man from where I'm at_

_It's plain to see desperation showed it's truth_

_You love her, and she loves you with all she has_

_I guess I should've been more like that_

_More Like Her,_  Miranda Lambert

It was only when she left that Sam realized that by walking out the door, she had faced the inevitable.

She could not go back inside. There was no space there, not even in the margins. Sam got in her chair and felt the muscles in her back relax as her legs shook with repressed emotion.

Her senses were spinning, there was so much overload, so much white noise. She could barely cut through it all now that she could breathe again. It was a normal day in her life, a normal day inside her brain, but she had wanted today to be special. She just wanted to prove to herself that she could live a life, even if it would never be the same again.

Her iPod was not in her bag. It was in her room. 

It was time. 

Life wouldn't ever be the same again, and she'd spent so much time building up this moment in her mind, that it would be just like any other day, but it wasn't and she couldn't expect it to be. She was a different person now, a little bit more fragile, with a bit of a tougher skin.

She was different and the world was different. She had to saddle up anyway. Accepting that she was a different person was hard, but maybe the old Sam would have never been able to survive in this world, this world where her father looked at her with a stranger's gaze and her successes were measured by her ability to hide her tears and ride out the pain.

It was a new world, but she had to live in it, because she wasn't going to take Jake down with her.

Her body tensed with fury. How dare Dad think that whatever she was doing was about Jake. And then how dare he compound it by saying that he was going to split them up? He'd tried it time and time again, just like he'd picked his girlfriend over and over again. He would never stop doing that, but he would also never split them up.

If he thought he could, Dad had another thing coming.

_You're a good soldier, choosing your battles_

_Pick yourself up and dust yourself off_

_Get back in the saddle_

_You're on the front line, everyone's watching_

_You know it's serious, we're getting closer_

_This isn't over_

_The pressure's on, you feel it_

_But you got it all, believe it_

_People are raising their expectations_

_Go on and feed them_

_This is your moment, no hesitation_

_When you fall get up, oh oh_

_If you fall get up, eh eh_

_Waka Waka (This Time for Africa)_ , Shakira

Jake prayed. He didn't pray as often as he should, but as Sam led Kitty to the ring, he prayed. His palms were sweating. Sam unlatched the gate, and he felt her flinch. His hand went down on her waist, half ready to pull her away. Jake's own nerves were on edge.

Sam looked up at him, shifting her weight against him to look around at him, the horse at her side waiting patiently. "You okay?"

Jake paused, ran a hand along Kitty in praise.

Her reaction now was normal for her. The gate was heavy and loud and her brain said it was going to hit her, and she always flinched in anticipation.

It was his reaction that she saw as worrisome. "I'm okay, Sam." Sam glanced over at the cowboys slowly coming their way. "Are you sure?"

Jake kept hold of her as he latched the gate, uncaring that Sam wanted to do this herself. He knew that  he could not cope with that, though he was sorry. The memory of pulling the gate off of her body was fresh in his mind, and he hissed out a breath when Sam read his exact memory in his eyes. 

Sam looked up at him, and a soft, reassuring smile graced her face. As rattled as he was, he still wanted to kiss her. It seemed to be an automatic reaction now.

Kitty looked at him, and Jake knew Sam's answer before it even left her mouth. There was very little space between them, her soft words giving him a way out of this. "I want this. But I need to know that you do, too."

She was amazing. The day they'd had would send most people to their beds in tears, but not her, never her. She got up and got on with life in a way that made him proud to try and keep up with her.

They both had their pain, both had their issues, but Sam, in this moment, wasn't letting that hold her back. That, to him, was the heart of her courage. She was unsure and walking out on a wire to put her mouth and her actions where her soul was, and he knew her strength. No one else saw that duality in her, the stubborn anger, the passionate resolve, and Jake knew that it was her greatest gift to the world. He didn't have the words to tell her any of this.

Jake looked at the hope and the fear mingling in her eyes, and he knew that he was not going to stand in the way of her dreams. He could put a stop to this, and part of him wanted to do nothing more because he wasn't sure he could handle this, but he knew that that would be selfish. He loved her, wanted her to be safe, yes, but not unhappy, and she'd worked too hard for this for anyone to doubt that she was capable.

He held onto that fact, as Sam's eyes brightened, and then dampened quickly as he heard movement behind him.

There was only one person who brought that look into her eyes, that uncertain hope into her bearing. Wyatt had hurt her, again, somehow. She was bleeding inside, and she hid it with her grit. "You're doing this already?"

Wyatt had just rolled in, having pulled in while they were getting Kitty together, and Jake knew that Sam was hoping that this would be said and done before he showed his face.

He had seen her falter in her resolve until she'd looked at Kitty. He couldn't help that he'd been late to River Bend. He wanted to do this alone, just them, but Quinn had found out what they were up to and had blabbed and the hope in his father's eyes had been too much to shut down or evade. Now it was some great big thing that everyone seemed to want in on.

Sam had not wanted Wyatt here. Sam did not want him to see her fail, or fall. She never would, but Wyatt had not earned the right to stand beside her as she succeeded. He didn't deserve much credit anymore for the woman she was. Sam deserved all of that credit, and he hated Wyatt for deciding that now was the time to be involved in his daughter's life. 

"Yes." Sam replied, shortly, and going to talk to her horse. Jake wished that she hadn't let go.

Wyatt tried to pull Jake aside, but it wasn't his fault that Wyatt hadn't bothered to ask about their plans.

Not, of course, that Jake would have disclosed anything. If you weren't a part of the journey, you don't get to be a part of the success. Funny how Wyatt had once said that to him. 

Jake did his best to ignore the man as he minded Kitty's head and spoke to Sam, "You're ready?"

She led Kitty over to the agreed upon point. The process was something they'd talked over and talked over, but he still felt uncertain she moved towards the point of no return. They had worked on this and worked on this, but Jake knew that Sam felt things were on the line now. 

He had wanted this to be low key for her, and for himself. 

The back of her jeans was folded under at the waistband, leaving the edge not quite sitting evenly. Jake knew the sensation annoyed her, and without thought, he reached out and fixed the fold in the denim, and was relived to find that there was no irritation on her sensitive skin.

Sam's eyes flashed with thanks, which he did not need. The action was simple. It was automatic and devoid of some meaning that Wyatt gave it.

Wyatt's jaw tightened, and Jake hoped that Sam didn't see her father's idiotic reaction. It was a helping gesture, something he'd done without any thought. 

"I am now." Sam replied. She kissed her horse, "Aren't we Kitty?"

Kitty looked at Jake, and at Sam, and Jake scratched her between the ears.

This was a day about bonding. Kitty's wise eyes seemed to see the fear in his soul. She had promised him that she would take care of his girl, and he knew that Kitty was going to keep her word. She always did, and she reminded him not to sass her in a single slow blink.

Kitty was ready.

 

Sam was ready.

Jake hoped he was.

Jake looked at Sam, and smirked in the direction of their onlookers. It had been a point of discussion in his household, behind his back of course, about how Sam was going to get on her horse.

Wyatt said, "You should..." He, once again, assumed that he knew everything, that he was going to run Sam's show.

"We've got this." Sam said, very calmly, and very professionally.

Whatever Wyatt had done or said was not going to spoil this moment for her, and Sam's glance at him told Jake all he needed to know. She was trying to pretend that Wyatt wasn't here, hadn't assumed it was his right to trespass on the space they'd carved out in this ring. Jake knew that he could just pick her up and do it that way, but he knew that her pride was bigger than he was.

They'd been practicing this for weeks. "Ready?"

"Don't kick me this time." Jake whispered, just see her smile. It was a joke, one only she understood. She had kicked him in the stomach once, hard, and had gotten bleary over it. 

She seemed to think that his body was as soft as his heart. 

 

She could kick him if she promised to kiss it better.

Sam stood on the left side of Kitty, took the reins, and jumped on the third count. She was light and forceful. Sam had worked so hard to keep stress of Kitty's back.

They didn't even need the words. They could still do this. It was something of a struggle in that her movements weren't smooth and she tensed fractionally when both feet were off the ground before she pulled her foot around to sit astride. It was all of ten seconds that her body tensed and her mind spun, but he could feel it in the slight tensing and flexing of her body when her feet were off the ground.

Jake kept his hands on her body very carefully.

He pressed down a little bit, and pushed her leg just a bit. Sam used that pressure, that sense of space, to pull her leg around carefully. 

Jake tapped her thigh, a silent reminder to breathe. It had gotten them through more than one PT session. 

Sam was up on the back of Kitty.  She was tense, unsure, had bad form, and looked utterly terrified around her eyes, but all Jake saw was perfection, the triumph of this moment. 

He felt the healing as air filled their lungs in unison. Sam's hands were fisted, but he felt her cataloging her muscles and felt her lean away from the support that his hand was providing, only to judge that she was not yet ready, and lean back some.

Jake felt pride when she did it without questioning that his hand would be there. 

He knew that had they been alone, she would have been talking a mile a minute to Kitty, to him, about anything. They couldn't have that line of communication now, so they had to rely on that nonverbal communication they'd developed over the years. In a matter of seconds, she was astride and sitting up and forward like she might have on any other bareback ride.

This wasn't any normal day.

 

Jake fought hard to keep the hand that was supporting her still and steady as she patted and talked to Kitty, the tenseness not really leaving her, even as the fear bled away. Her body's reactions were not the reactions of her heart, and Jake felt himself slipping away.

Jake pulled back mentally, hard. 

 

Sam needed him here, now, not thinking about their pain. He needed to focus on the facts in front of him. He could do it. He needed to distance himself from the emotional magnitude of this moment.

This was a normal day. He was standing next to her, Kitty's body still and calm as Sam sat up there.

The wind rippled by them, and it brought reality along with it. It crashed down upon him as he saw Sam up there on Kitty's back. Her knees were tense. She knew better, but her brain was not cooperating with her wishes. 

Being the horse that she was, Kitty didn't seem to mind, didn't even seem to notice, but Wyatt was evaluating Sam with a critical, watchful eye, and Jake couldn't bear it.

Slowly, he ran his fingers over the backside of her knee, and she relaxed.

 

_So I took her out to show her how to rope and ride_

_I can't believe that it was me that wound up broke and tied_

_That girl is a cowboy_

_Sometimes the best cowboys ain't cowboys at all_

_She's got my back even when it's against the wall_

_When I need a friend, she's the guy I call_

_'Cause sometimes the best cowboys_

_Ain't cowboys at all_

_That Girl is a Cowboy_ , Garth Brooks

Sam was sitting on her her horse, and it was all he could do to breathe.

She was a warrior. Sam turned her head, and he saw the tensity in her movement. She wasn't scared, but there was something there in that movement that spoke more to her neurology than her own intentions. Her physical body did not know what to do with all of this stimuli, even if her soul knew it was in its favorite place. 

She wouldn't allow herself to be scared. She knew how to ride, they just had to remind her body and her brain of something her heart couldn't possibly ever doubt.

Without thought, Jake's hand slid across the lowest part of her back, just above where the waist of her jeans met the shirt she was wearing.

Jake blinked up at her, and she opened her hand in a symbolic gesture, without really looking.

Jake took her hand, and put it where he knew she wanted it to be, in Kitty's mane. Jake pressed down, softly, and watched as a grin bloomed across Sam's face. The texture of horsehair in her fingers didn't hurt.

Sam took his presence on her body as a cue to do what she'd clambered up here to do. She bonded with her horse.

 

Personally, he had always thought of equine yoga as a bit much, but Sam had glommed onto it weeks ago. It was PT that made sense to her, though she had never before been up there to do it.

Jake kept his hand on her back, trying to be the soothing anchor he knew she needed as she leaned forward toward Kitty's ears. She patted and talked to the horse, though her arms were tense, close to her body, like a chicken might do if they had arms. 

Jake knew her equilibrium was kicking in, but after a long second, she dropped her arms down slowly, and wrapped her arms around Kitty, a a prone hug that was designed to help her ground herself and become one with her horse in a way that she always been and always would be. Sam put her cheek against Kitty, and sighed.

She turned her head,and froze, tensing, so hard that she nearly spasmed.  Jake whispered, "Don't look at the ground, Sam."

He could only imagine things that her mind was telling her. She got terrified if her wheel castors left the ground, if she tilted too far back in bed, and there she was, sitting up there doing her damn best to relax. Her body didn't know this was a natural state for her, but her soul did, and he swore he could see her soul spilling out from the confines of her body.

This moment was one of the most beautiful Jake had ever seen. He couldn't hear her words to Kitty, but he could hear her breathing. He swore he felt her heart beat. 

 

She was doing this and darn if Wyatt didn't look surprised, as though he had doubted her.

Her quiet strength humbled Jake. She had walked through hell and back for this moment, this one tiny moment.

Still, her body couldn't take too much, and even though this movement was something she'd trained for for weeks, Sam was working too hard to carefully match her breathing to Kitty's. She was stressed and out of sync. Jake saw it in the way she breathed, in the tense way she licked her lips like her brain had started to lock down. 

She sat up slowly, and Jake helped her most of the way. It didn't matter. It was all her, anyway, he was just support.

Jake knew that she was slightly out of place. She wasn't sure of the places and spaces. Her body didn't know where it was, and her neurons were freaking out, for lack of a better word, but her soul was rejoicing. He could see the joy behind the physical sensations in her eyes.

She should have done the stretches on the ground, built up to this slowly. There were so many of them, but he understood her need to be up there when Wyatt had showed up, not to mention the motley crew of observers.

Jake blinked at them, trying not to grin.

He felt Sam's knees tense.

"Okay?" Jake couldn't hide the worry in his voice. He was a nanosecond away from pulling her down into his arms and she knew it.

"We're good." Everyone thought she was talking about Kitty and her, but Jake knew better. Sam didn't look at him, but her hand moved over his arm soothingly, as she got used to the sensations of being up there again and was more aware of where her body was and where her limbs might go.

She was accepting his fear. He was terrified that if they moved, he would end up hurting her again. It was one thing to sit here and do equine yoga with Kitty. It was quite another to take those steps into an uncertain future.

Jake's palms slicked over as he touched Sam, and the fabric of her clothing wicked away his sweat.

This was too much, and she was willing to back down for him. He understood then, what her love for him really was. This girl with pride the size of Texas, she was willing to set aside her pride and her convictions, dash the expectations of everyone watching, for his sake. Jake knew then, that he couldn't allow that to happen, couldn't let her step back for him. H

e knew what they would see, what they would unwittingly assume. It wasn't her that wasn't ready for more. It was him, him, but no one would see that. Jake knew that if Sam could cowboy up, he could do it, too. Jake moved to slip them off, and refocus what they were doing.

Sam had other ideas."If I fall, Jake..." Sam whispered, "This time, I know how hard the ground is." Jake understood the message.

He knew, that in some part of her soul, she had healed, achieved what she had set out to do from day one. She had done it, had learned some lesson from this whole accident that she had accepted as part of her, and learned to see beyond it. He heard the resolve in her voice. He hoped that she saw the beauty of this moment. He hoped that she could feel it.

He felt Sam tremble, because she was putting all of her energy into her posture. It was a ton of work. 

Jake's touch became questioning. He couldn't look into her eyes much, and he wasn't willing to talk in front of all of these people, least of all Wyatt, but Kitty understood what they were asking of her. She gave her permission with the flick of an ear.

Jake swung up onto Kitty's back.

A whole slew of people dotted the fence, but nobody was talking. The silence and the expectation was heavy around them. Everyone was staring.

He slid a hand down Sam's arm. There was nothing to do but ignore it. She took his hand, and began to twist, reaching around to pat Kitty on the side. He was glad that those trunk twists no longer freaked Sam out. He'd known they'd be good for something, one day. 

She caught his eye, and the love he saw there made his racing heart slow. He also saw the glimmer of something else, that something that made him think of all of the days of his childhood. Sam was wild and free in her element, and no one was going to tell her any different, not even her own body.

Wyatt stepped away then, as Jake settled behind Sam. Therapeutically, they weren't supposed to be this close, but it worked for them and it worked for Kitty. Jake took up the reins. Sam, oddly enough, had not yet touched them. He figured she wanted more to spend the time with Kitty than to actually ride, though he knew that she would never admit it. For her, for them both, this wasn't about doing, it was about feeling. Still, sometimes the only way to feel was to do the things that could make you feel that way.

Like sex, Jake thought suddenly. 

Her body was nestled into his, her slight form sitting in just the right spot to do this correctly. There was absolutely nowhere she was going to go, but forward. Jake knew that if she started to fall, he'd break that fall. It was something that he had learned and come to believe over the last few months. He would break her fall, just like she had broken his.

They might trip and stumble through life, but they had each other.

He wished that Sam knew that he had been softballing her. He wished that he could tell her that he had always known that this moment would be about more than equine yoga with Kitty, that he knew her enough to know that once she was up here, there was going to be no stopping her.

They didn't have everything tied up. Nothing was wrapped together in a neat little bow, but this moment was right. It was right, and good, not in spite of, but because of the journey that had seen them to this point.

Jake took her hands in his, felt her tremble as his body framed hers. She didn't want her father to walk away, and it occurred to Jake that they would always love that man, still trust him no matter how experience showed them otherwise. Still, when he did, her hands slid down as his slid up on the reins, and the expression that came over her face, came over her body had been worth every moment of extra reading and slight bits of subterfuge.

"Hey, Brat?" He whispered into her ear, low and slow enough so that she alone would hear his voice. This was about them, not their family that was straining to hear the words passing between them.

"What?" Sam was looking at the world through a pair of horse's ears, and nothing, not even the shiver he felt in her body, could beat that. He was fine with where he ranked on the list.

Jake flicked a glance over at their audience. "You going to show them how to ride a horse, or are we going to sit here all day burning daylight?"

"Never thought I'd see the day." Sam replied, after she exhaled.

Her heard all of the doubts running through her mind in that single whoosh of air. He had let up on the reins intentionally. He had always trusted her abilities with the horses, and she needed to know that, and so did their little crowd of onlookers. There would be no room for anyone to ever doubt her, not now. Not one of them had the guts she had, and he wanted them to see it.

After a moment, she tilted her head to smile up at him, for a second. "Never say I don't do anything for you, Lazy." Her hands loosened on the reins, and she clicked purposefully.

Kitty huffed at them as if to say, "Finally." She picked up her hoof, and he felt Sam gasp over the sound of Kitty's hooves as they moved and the sound of his heartbeat.

 

_And now I'm glad I didn't know_

_The way it all would end, the way it all would go_

_Our lives are better left to chance_

_I could have missed the pain_

_But I'd have had to miss the dance_

_Yes, my life is better left to chance_

_I could have missed the pain but I'd have had to miss the dance_

_The Danc_ e, Garth Brooks


	25. Wonderful Tonight

_  
How lovely to be a woman, the wait was well worth while;_

_How lovely to wear mascara and smile a woman's smile._

_How lovely to be a woman and have one job to do;_

_How wonderful to know the things a woman knows;_

_How Lovely to be a Woman_ , Bye Bye Birdie

_Weeks Later..._

Sam looked at the girl in the mirror, her wet hair sticking to the nape of her neck. The scar on her head stuck out now, in a way that it didn't when her hair was dry and frizzy. Sam plugged in the blow dryer and the hot iron and waited.

She knew that this was the right move, even though it had come to her suddenly.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jen, "Be there soon. I really don't mind. Stop asking. You're sure about this?"

Sam swallowed and thumbed the keypad, ignoring the press of the cut on her hand from yesterday in the barn. She wasn't sure about any of this. But she knew it was the right thing to do. She had to stop asking for reassurance, like a child, and just go with this.

"Yes." She tapped away on her phone quickly, "See you."

Sam set the phone down on her desk and turned to her closet. She knew that pulling out the stops for this venture was a little dumb, but she needed every ounce of security and confidence she could come up with. Honesty took steel ovaries, and maybe she didn't have those, but she could look fierce while she clung to whatever guts she did have.

Sam peered into her closet in her lair, and sighed. Even with Max's organizational genius, Sam did not know what to wear to this kind of thing. Emily Post did not have a category for anything like this, not that she looked at the big blue book any other time than when she was told to by Gram. A lady, Gram said, addressed her own thank you cards, even when she did not know how to do it so that said person's grandmother wouldn't sigh and tear up her effort like properly penned thank you cards were the pinnacle of human achievement.

Well, it was cold. That cut out some things, and she ignored her church clothes. She did not need a swiss dot, chiffon party dress that Sue had picked up for a song in some vintage shop. She did not need an overly large sweatshirt, a blue sundress, a white blouse, a pair of capris, seven, eight, nine, pairs of jeans. Running her fingers over the final pair of jeans made her feel a swell of longing in her heart. 

She knew what she didn't want, but not what she did. Sam felt along the rack, and pulled out a really soft skirt. It was a black skirt, that would hit just at her knee. It was a very slight flare, with a silk underlay and a few thin layers of something with more body over the top. Sam pulled apart the button, looked at the long zip meant to hug her just so, and put it back in the closet. 

She wasn't sure she wanted to wear it. 

She found a creme top, and knowing that she had a black and creme sweater with horses on it, put everything on the bed. She pulled out the skirt again, and put it on the bed. It went with the sweater, and it was soft. 

Sam faced the desk and dried and flat-ironed her hair, pausing as the sensation built within her.

She was no good with hair, but the OT had insisted she know how to do this, that she could figure out hair and make up. Sam did not tell the woman that those lessons hadn't been refreshers. They'd been a crash course in beauty and self-care, a task she had never before given any respect, or even any thought. She still hated the job, and the texture of cosmetics, not to mention the ethical concerns, but she could fake it.

Sam made quick work of doing what she could with what she had. Her hair was growing, she thought with a sigh.

Sam sat down on the bed, splayed her legs out in front of her, and looked at the smooth tights on the bed. Taking them up, she carefully bunched the legs, and leaned down to find her left foot, and tried to slide the toes over her toes, so as to let the fabric catch before the tension in the tights went away and she was left with nothing but a long leg and no toes in the foot. 

Sam blew out a breath as dizziness overtook her. She knew her muscles were tight and her brain was on edge because of the  enormity of what she was about to do. The colors that danced in front of her eyes made her stomach roll. Sam had only bathed to wash away the layers of cold sweat that had sprung up since she had settled upon a course of action. 

Sam yanked on the opaque tights, uselessly. Frustration and resolve built within her as she bunched the leg to try again. No way was she going out with bare legs in this weather. After another two tries, sweat was pouring off of her. 

Sam shelved the idea of the skirt, or at least the tights. She'd pretty much ditched Jake and Quinn to come inside. Jake grumbled about work to be done, but she knew better. Today, in their minds, was a lazy Saturday, with work to be sure, but nothing like the Saturday that was taking place for Sam. 

Frustrated with annoyance that did not damper her resolve to put a strong foot forward, Sam returned to the closet. She knew she needed to find strength. That skirt didn't make her feel strong. Sure, her behind would look great in it, not that anyone ever saw her behind, but still… Sam's confidence was shaken. She'd missed the mark with this outfit, and she knew it. She couldn't play at being something she wasn't, and this outfit felt like a farce, as big a joke as her work clothes still did.

She pulled at the first pair of jeans she saw. They were skinny jeans. Sam preferred straight leg jeans, but Sue had insisted. They balanced out her slimness, or some such. They didn't overwhelm her body. 

Sam didn't know how to articulate how much they overwhelmed her heart. 

"Sam!" Quinn called, "Come see this!" Sam had no idea what he wanted, but she knew, in that instant that she wasn't going out in this skirt. She wanted to change, thought about hollering down for Quinn to wait, but she knew he wouldn't stop until she answered him, "Sam!"

"What?" Sam called down, through the open door. "I'm busy!" She had to figure out what to wear. 

"Sam." Quinn repeated, "Dolly Parton just said she attracts everything but boys and money." 

"Record it!" Sam pleaded. Sam liked that movie. She identified with that movie. She just didn't think she could watch it with other people. And besides, she had things to do. 

Sam sat down, and pulled the jeans on. She got them up around her hips, and tried in vain to straighten them. She knew she would need help to fix the waistband and button them. Sam let them stay open as she pulled on the top. It was a little big, but not overly large. It would be okay, Sam thought. 

She pulled and pulled at the waist, knowing that it would not close because it was not sitting correctly. She reached around to fix it, and found that she could not grip the fabric with her hand behind her body. Her fingers refused to close enough to grab the fabric and sliding her hand along the jeans at the bag did nothing but cause her to flop over on her bed. She could not get

She bit her lip, and reached for the smaller cosmetics bag on her desk. She thumbed the tube. PlantLove Cherry Bliss. Sue insisted she buy it when her protestations about not being able to find ethical make up were halted in this item, right down to the packaging that she could plant and let something grow from it. Hopefully, her own ventures would be successful.

Sam applied a careful layer of the red lipstick, and put the tube away. Despite what Sue said, it did not feel like confidence. It felt like battle armor.

Sam picked up her sweater, and shrugged it on, buttoning it to just below her bust line, with fumbling fingers, hating that such activities still challenged her so strongly. The knit was thin, but the horse design was beautiful and fun. Sam loved it. Even if it was a little upscale for her taste, it was great, and had been found at a thrift store. The first owner probably didn't even know a mustang from a mule. Sam looked down at her feet. There was nothing for it. She left her room in her bare feet,  almost stomping over the wooden floors to avoid hitting her toes.

She needed help. 

"Well, what's this?" Quinn looked up at her from the couch. He was playing around with Jake's guitar, simply because it annoyed Jake, and there was a pile of mail on the table. He'd called her down for mail, and nothing more.The mail carrier always seemed to give her things here and Three Ponies items at home, and Quinn had stopped at the post office. 

Still, she flipped him off, with a glare.

Quinn chuckled, and called out, "Hey, Jake! Where are you going?"

Sam's glare turned homicidal. Quinn knew they weren't going anywhere. Jake was loafing about the barn, and only came in for food. He came into the living room, yet another ham sandwich hanging from his huge hand with no plate. This one had at least half a pig on it, complete with mayo, cheese, and potato chips between the thick slices of bread. "Nowhere." Jake was settled in for the day, "Why?"

His gaze was on her, then, something unexpected sparking within her as his brown eyes liquified across the room. Sam willed herself not to blush. Thankfully, she didn't. She didn't so much as breathe. "What?"

He didn't even roll his eyes. Thank God Quinn had some idea, or this would be the strangest experience of their poor brother's life. Wait. He deserved it. This was all his fault. Sam's hand reflexively went into her hair, which was smooth. "I'm going out."

"Uh-huh." Quinn said, clearly laughing at her. His words were almost unheard by everyone, as Jake spoke at the same time.

"Where?" Why did she feel that question in her core? She knew that it was a simple question in Jake's own gruff way.

Sam did not have an answer. Well, she did, she just didn't want to lie to his face. A lie of omission was just as bad. But it was all she had. He would insist on coming otherwise, and she wouldn't say no because she really did want him there. However, she needed to pull up her big girl panties and do this by herself. Jeez. She should not be thinking about her underwear. Sam's knees grew numb.

Jake was still looking at her, filling up the space, expecting an answer. His very bearing demanded it. Still, she answered the way she wanted to answer. It wasn't his concern, no matter how much she wanted to make it so. "With Jen."

Quinn cut Jake off, and Sam knew she had had enough of this. "Well, I think I'm more fun." Sam glared. Sam made her way back up the stairs. Jake was looking at her, really looking at her.

Sam heard Jake following her up the steps. Quinn asked, "Where are you two going?" Jake gripped her elbow as she slipped on the stairs, barely staving off a crack to the knee.

"I told you I'm leaving!" Sam went into her room, expecting to find Jake there glaring at her for her lack of verbosity, which was ironic coming from him, but he wasn't.

_I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you_

_But with the beast inside there's nowhere we can hide_

_Don't wanna let you down but I am hell bound_

_Though this is all for you, don't wanna hide the truth_

_Your eyes, they shine so bright_

_I wanna save that light_

_Demons_ , Imagine Dragons

He was in front of her as he pushed the door behind them. Sam's pulse raced, "So Jen'll be here any second and I do need to finish getting ready." She backed up against the door, reaching behind her for the door knob. She didn't want to walk away from him, walk away from whatever had been building all morning as they worked in the barn, been percolating within their gentle companionship and touches that had lingered for a second too long.

She needed to get a grip and get herself together. It wasn't fair that he looked so very nice in his work clothes. And. Well. He did. 

She still felt like she was playing dress up no matter what she wore, and he looked so at ease, so very in control of himself. It wasn't fair that she wanted nothing more than to press her lips to his and see if her lipstick stayed on his skin, so that they would both know that she had been there, so that she could find out if he felt her as keenly as she felt him, just to see if she could watch his self-control crumble.

Jake's agreement died between them as Sam gave into her impulse.

She pressed her lips to Jake's, and found her back pressed against the door, against the wood as Jake's left hand protected the back of her head from the movement. His hand slid down her body. Moving in tandem, Sam fisted her hands into his sweatshirt, and melted. Together, they went up flames, teeth and tongue and harsh breathing, scraping and caressing and echoing in their souls. It was a moment that went on forever even as it wasn't enough.

Sam's hands found their way under Jake's sweatshirt as her fingers gripped his arm. She was keenly aware of warmth building inside of her, a warmth that chased away the chill of pain. She leaned back, trying to get her message across. She needed to feel... Sam shivered, and wasn't sure if she was begging or demanding that he do something about it, now, yesterday, right now. "Please."

She was certain that this moment was the only thing that made sense. Jake took her weight up more fully, and for once, Sam was intimately glad that she was so short, and so slight. Her weight was not an obstacle to this position, to Jake's balance. Her arm looped more fully around Jake, drawing him closer.

When Sam slipped forward, reaching ineffectually, Jake stepped closer to the door, changing the angle by which their bodies met as her physical reaction grew. Obviously, Jake wanted to get as close to her as equally as she wanted to get close to him. Jake slid his hand between her head and the door, his long fingers caressing her skull.

The moment was urgent and timeless. Sam felt electric and desperate, like she was heavy in his arms, and weightless as Jake's mouth stole her breath yet again. His hands left her face, slid down her body, stopping and swirling. 

After a moment, Sam could barely breathe. He boosted her up gently, his long, dexterous fingers, cupping her bottom. Just as Sam was quite certain that he was going to shove her jeans down, Jake's fingers, which had been playing along the indentation of her waist, the swell of her hips, slipped around the front of her jeans, and deftly did up the button before she knew what he was about. 

Sam froze, pulled her mouth away, and panted, "You think you're funny don't you?" 

"You said that you had to get ready." Jake grinned, his grin electric, "And then you said _please_." Jake looked at her, teasing her, nipping at her earlobe gently. 

Sam tried not to let him see her smile. 

Sam glanced at the clock as her head rested on Jake's shoulder, content now just to be held and feel him next to her. She was secure in his embrace. Sam knew that she was protected and worshiped in his arms. She felt blessed and powerful. Sam knew that what she had to do was the right thing even more, because of this moment.

Sam glanced at Jake. He knew the answer, "I've got to do this, okay? We'll talk later." Jake wasn't satisfied with that answer, but he respected it, and helped her to find her feet.

Jake sat down on the desk chair, his gaze assessing the still cooling flat iron. Sam sighed. His hands had utterly ruined any semblance of style her efforts had achieved. He grinned at her, and Sam crinkled her nose in the mirror.

Ignoring Jake, Sam grabbed a pair of socks and her boots. She was tired of trying to be who she wasn't, who she thought she needed to be, just to get something done. Sam pulled the sides of the laces of her boots. "Are you going to help me, or stare at me?"

Jake deftly dropped to his knees before her, "I never stare." Sam grinned, knowing that that was a complete lie. It was okay to be a tiny bit deluded, she figured. Sam saw that there was finally a bit of wear on these jeans, from her daily riding. She was improving, she hoped, and life was really moving forward in ways it never had before.

She was starting to feel comfortable at home.

"Liar." Sam reached behind herself carefully for the socks on her bed. "How are the horses?"  She sat on the edge, her feet sticking out before her.

Jake knelt down before her and pushed up the leg of her jeans, letting his fingers glide over her calves as he slid the socks on her feet. They were inside out, thankfully. Sam could not handle the sensation of the little strings and the line of the seam on her toes anymore, not in conjunction with the feeling of lingering sensations of the fabric sliding over feet.

"You could come back to the barn and see for yourself." Jake offered. Sam saw through the suggestion as she loosened the laces on her boot and passed one to Jake. She had just been there, only leaving to get cleaned up. She slid her foot inside it, with some help, and let Jake tie up the laces deftly. Jake's hand rested on her knee, keeping her steady as she shifted her weight to slide her foot into her left boot.

"Later, I promise." Sam was glad that he had not pressed her for information about where she was going.

Jake nodded, and pulled the laces on the boot, and double knotted it.

Sam looked at Jake. "Thank you." His smile in return was all she needed. He filled her lair in the same way that he filled her heart. There was no need for thanks between them, but she knew that in this too, it was mutual. She needed help with her shoes, and he, oddly, saw it as a way to be there with her.

Standing, she pinned some hair back with a bar clip. Jake pushed her hair aside, and fixed tags on her shirt. Sam saw his eyes liquify in the mirror, and wondered what he was thinking about.

Before she could ask, she heard her car, Jen's car, come into the yard. She ran the brush through her flat hair, and noticed that her lipstick was gone. There was a bit of skin irritation under her ear that she hoped no one would notice. Her lips were too full, her skin still too flushed.

Jake grinned smugly.

On the way out of the door, Sam noticed a bright tint on Jake's skin that she hadn't before, and passed a tissue towards him, "You forgot to blot."

He took the tissue, and made a face. He passed Sam her wallet and her phone from the basket on the dresser, and Sam understood the message therein.

Sam came down the stairs, and felt much better in this outfit, though all of it was likely the endorphins from being quickly kissed senseless mere seconds before. She felt less hidden, somehow, but more confident. It was odd, but better she knew what she was getting, Sam thought. There could be balance, and Sam needed to find it. She yanked down her sweater and smiled as Jen came up the steps.

She was ready.

_You can mark my words something's about to break_

_And I found myself in a bitter fight, while I've held your hand through the darkest night_

_Don't know where you're coming from but you're coming soon_

_Come on and we'll sing, like we were free_

_Push the pedal down watch the world around fly by us_

_Come on and we'll try, one last time_

_And here we go there's nothing left to choose_

_And here we go there's nothing left to lose_

_Nothing Left To Lose,_  Mat Kearney

Sam got in the car, and Jen began the conversation that would last much of their 45 minute drive. "What's with him?" Sam pulled down her sweater, and pulled her top up, wishing that it was black and not cream. Sam held onto Jen's book that had been gracing the passenger seat.

Sam knew instantly who Jen was talking about. Quinn had been laughing at her, and Jake was quiet, assessing, watchful.

He wasn't exactly happy, both because he'd have to go back to the barn alone, and because Quinn had teased him mercilessly about "Jake's new shade of lipstick." It wasn't her fault he hadn't wiped it off properly.

Sam answered honestly, "You know how grouchy he can get. He has no idea I'm doing this." Sam replied, "What was I going to say? 'Jake, I've decided to have a chat with my father's girlfriend because I'm tired of hating her? I've decided to grow up and take my lumps?' I didn't think he'd take too kindly to not being invited."

Jen began, "It's a big change." Her short hair was pristine, the short cut having added thickness and removed a lot of the fly aways that came from the breaking hair in her braids.

Sam still felt Jake's fingers in her hair, cradling her scull, no matter what she did. He would have wanted to be there, and he should have been. Maybe she was shutting him out, but she was tired of hurting him. She was doing this not for herself, for she would be content to have her anger on the forefront forever, even if it did grow tiring.

She was taking this step for everyone else. There did not need to be any more carnage. She was doing this for him, but he didn't need to know that, because if he knew, he would never support the sacrifice. He would not support this acquiescence. 

Sam didn't think it was a huge change. She still felt the same way she always had, scared and inadequate, and picked over. Only now, she understood that there was more to it all. She understood more of herself and couldn't allow herself to go on as she had. It didn't feel right anymore.

She had changed. She had simply woken up in Jake's arms and been done. She really was just done. "Not really."

Sam wasn't quite sure why she had woken up yesterday, knowing that it was done, whatever had been standing in the way of moving on with life in spite of her father's choices.

Accepting didn't mean agreeing, she knew, because Max didn't agree with medical school, and yet she had printed off some stuff for Jake and stuck it in the Scout. Sam did not agree or understand what was really going on, but her feelings were more complex than that, and finding the root of them simply meant that once she saw the root of what she was dealing with meant that her actions and her game plan changed radically.

There was no plan now, only a nothingness that she hoped would one day be acceptance. Maybe it never would be, but she had learned that the pain of this nothingness was the only thing she really had left.

Maybe she had, unconsciously, wanted him to be as lonely, as desperately alone, as she had been when he'd left her in San Francisco. Maybe she had, and the shame of that fell upon her. It was selfish, but she couldn't regret feeling that way. She had come to see her emotions for what they were: fear. She had wanted her father to know that fear, that crushing sense of desolation. If she had to be alone, then so did he. She could not bear the idea that he was happy even as she broke into a million pieces. Gram's words came back to resound in her heart.

She knew now that she couldn't force that emotion upon him. She wanted him to know it, but she did not want him to be as miserable and as broken as she had been. No one would ever wish that on their worst enemy. This realization did not excuse his mistakes, his flaws, nor did it mean that their relationship was better or even healing. He had still hurt her. She was still angry at him, disappointed in him, and debased of any notions of her father as some kind of hero.

But seeing him as a man, as a person, had gotten her to this point. If he was a person like she was a person, then he was worthy of trying to go about finding his own happiness despite pain and regret, too. Sometimes, she only saw her regrets and mistakes clearly when she was happy again. Distance provided clarity, but the clarity wasn't found in the distance of miles. And if Dad was a man, just a man, then this was the right choice.

_And I don't know how it happened  
I'm just glad that I have someone to play with_

_In all these years I've learned many things_

_Me and you 'til we've won_

_'Cause that's what brothers do_

_That's What Brothers Do,_  Confederate Railroad

Quinn strummed the strings dramatically. "You've got lipstick on your ear, still."

Jake swiped at his earlobe. There was nothing there, because he'd gotten most of it off in the kitchen. One little bit and Quinn acts like he's got evidence of the world's biggest unsolved crime, Jake thought. "Shut up."

"Wrong ear." Quinn corrected. Jake rolled his eyes, but that didn't dissuade his brother. "So, when are you telling people? Christmas looks good for me."

"I'm sure it does." Jake replied, knowing that his brothers had a bet pool going. Sam and he did not feel that there needed to be some big discussion to mark this transition in their lives. It was natural and right and good. "We're thinking of renting a billboard at the fair."

"Too late." Quinn replied, "I looked into doing it for you, because that's the kind of brother I am. I am such a good brother." His sigh was melodramatic, and Jake stole a chip out of the bag that Quinn had been hogging, "I'm actually happy for you freaks, even if it does feel a bit doubly incestuous."

Jake appreciated that he wasn't calling them freaks because of anything that happened in the last year. They'd always been the square pegs in the round holes, all of them, Quinn included. It was comforting to know that Quinn, if few people else, still saw him enough to needle him. 

"Tell them to mind their own." Jake replied, glaring, and that went for Quinn, too.

Jake changed the subject, because he knew that Quinn was like a dog with a bone sometimes. He was the consummate politician, and Jake knew he was not above using his skills to win some money in a pool that Sam didn't know about. It didn't bother him, but she'd bust some heads if she knew. "You're going to the fair?"

"If I must." He sighed, "I must. Think of the ice cream, the cheese...the intestinal upset, the queasy stomach..." Quinn trailed off, with a gleam in his eyes that had nothing to do with food or his lactose intolerance.

"Scared about seeing Sarah?" Jake asked. Her family did a lot with the 4-H barns, and it was going to be nearly impossible to avoid her. Jake felt bad for Quinn, because he knew that his brother still held a torch for Sarah Jane. She'd stomped on his brother's soul, though Jake knew that she didn't know it. To her, it was just one of those things that ended when paths went in different directions.

"Shitless." Quinn said seriously. Clearly, it wasn't one of those things for Quinn.

Quinn had this problem, Sam said. He was deep. But he acted like a goofball and a statesman, serious in a way that was tempered by his ability to laugh that no one saw his depth. Sarah Jane hadn't. Sam refused to even invite Sarah's little sister anywhere anymore, and Jake understood. Sam didn't take kindly to anyone hurting Quinn. Somehow, those days seemed so long ago. It had been the weeks before the accident. 

Jake realized that he'd had no idea, for months, how Quinn was really doing in his own life. He didn't think he'd been selfish. They were just so focused on survival that anything else fell away. 

Jake looked at Quinn and felt like he was really seeing him for the first time in a long time. He had missed his brother. Missed this, whatever it was. Missed being there for Quinn, as Quinn was there for him. He just didn't know how to say that he hadn't had the capacity to be there, and likely still didn't. He hoped Quinn understood. 

Sam would not want Quinn to be alone, to feel alone, because he really wasn't alone. Jake didn't want that either. "You can come around with Sam and me, if you want." Jake offered.

"And stew in my singleness?" Quinn took the chip bag back with a scowl. He didn't own the chips, but Jake let go. "No thanks. I'm a big boy."

Jake understood exactly what was going to happen, then. "Going to stay with Mom?"

"Yep." Quinn answered flatly, turning his greasy fingers back to Jake's guitar's strings.

Jake stood and dusted the crumbs off of his shirt, "Make sure you get some extra fudge."

Quinn was not about to blamed for last year's fiasco. He struck a discordant note. It still burned that hardly anyone had gotten any fudge. "I did last year, but Nate ate it all."

Jake moved towards the door, pausing to ask. "Is he coming home?" He felt a spark of shame that he didn't know what was really going on. With work, and school, and everything else, time was just rushing by. He did not know what was going on with the fair, and in fact, it had snuck up on him. Still, he was excited.

"Probably. Only a fool would skip the fair." Quinn said, and Jake gathered that he didn't know either. They might live and work together, but sometimes the living and the work got in the way of the togetherness. Jake wanted that to change, if it wasn't too late. 

He was unsettled by that thought. He was unsettled by the idea that, even after a few days of everyone being home again, that he had no idea what was really going on with anybody. They had little idea of what was going on with him. In the past, he had seen that as a mark of independence from his horde of siblings, but now, now he wasn't so sure. 

"I'm going to River Bend." Jake said, and left the house, fleeing before the guilt and the loss overwhelmed him.

He had a fair idea of where Sam was, what she was doing, and he knew that she would be back at River Bend soon. He wanted to be there when she did arrive. He knew that something had changed. 

Something. What he wasn't completely sure. He couldn't read her mind, but he figured on a few things. 

Witch made good time, Jake thought, as she moved easily across the range. Jake turned her out in River Bend's pasture easily. He stopped for a second to look over the horses.

What he saw gave him hope. Kitty was looking at him, as if to ask where on earth Sam was. Her companion's sightless eyes were no impediment to her own awareness of him, and Jake replied, "She's not here." He stepped forward and ran his hand gently over Penny's side, making it clear that he was a friend, and not a threat.

She had only been here a few weeks, but she knew him well, mostly because if Sam was home, she was with her horses, which, when Brynna wasn't around, had somehow come to include Penny, though she obviously steered clear of Brynna and her growing machinations to make them all be one big happy family. Sam had a huge soft spot for Brynna's horse, though she would sooner die than admit it to someone.

Jake would never tell, but she had gone to bat for that horse in more ways than one.

Jake liked to think, too, that Penny had Sam's back. 

_I, I live in dreams, strange as it seems love came to me_

_When I, I opened my eyes I realized_

_Love came to me, only this time for real._

_Love Came to Me_ , Dion and the Belmonts

_Some Weeks Ago..._

Sam stomped into the barn, and anger was written into every line of her body. "I am done!" She snapped, as she stimmed, wrapping her right fingers around her left wrist, and squeezing. She was obviously upset. "Just done! First, it's my father. Then, it's my china, and would you believe I couldn't decide what was worse?" Jake knew that it was best to let her go when she was on a roll.

Sam continued as she sat down on the top of an upside down bucket, "And now she's turning my barn into a boarding stable!"

Jake winced internally as he empathized with Sam's anger. "What more does she want? I thought it was that idiot J.J. I had to watch out for, but it's her!" Sam's body went rigid and her eyes flared, "I hate her. I hate her. Why can't she just go away, go away and never come back?"

Jake was struck by the honesty in her voice, the truth of her desires in her words. She was clearly very upset. Jake knew that she needed to talk. "What happened?"

"Mr. McSmiles comes home," Jake did not ask for clarification. That was what she called her father behind his back when he came back from a date because he was all smiles. "And tells me... _tells_ me, can you believe that? He tells me that her horse is coming to live at River Bend!" Sam finished.

Jake saw how angry Sam was. She wasn't angry about the horse, exactly. It all came down to the choice of having a say in what happened on the ranch, what happened in the barn and with the other animals.

Jake winced as he heard the unshed tears and the raw grit in her voice. He didn't want to tell her to suck it up and roll with it, but evidently she had no other choice. He wrapped his arms around her, and she put her head onto him. "I'm sorry, Brat."

She felt powerless and out of control, clearly, and her anger was only a front for another hurt and betrayal.

"He said that he was sorry I felt that he'd picked Brynna, and that he didn't know how I'd gotten that idea!" Sam said, "Why doesn't he look at his actions? He picked her again over anything I might want, and then he says I've got the wrong idea?"

Jake understood, and wished that he could somehow make this better. He didn't have a solution.

Every time Sam walked into her barn, the one place on earth she considered to be a refuge, she would have to see proof of what was going on her in life. He understood why she felt so vulnerable. Wyatt was saying all of the right things to her, but not going about things in the right way.

His words were hollow. Empty. Meaningless. 

"I don't know, Brat." Jake replied. Sam took a calming breath, and Jake picked straw out of her hair. "A horse is always a good thing, no matter how it comes to be." This horse had to be, anyway. He couldn't see her avoiding the barn and the pastures, not when she was making so much progress.

Jake would talk up Penny until the day he died, if only to keep that from happening. The barn was Sam's refuge. She needed that space, that office, the scent of the hay and the feed and the leather and horses. 

"I'm not saying...I just..." Sam stood up, and the bucket tipped over, clattering on the hard ground. She winced slightly at the sound, flinching as though it was going to hit her, "I'd never take drama out on a horse, you know that, right?" She was looking at him imploringly.

"I know." Jake said simply. There was a look of uncertain sadness on her face, and Jake wanted to make it go away so very badly. Sam tilted her head, and a new gleam came into her eye. He hadn't seen that look in a long while, but he knew it well. It was kickstart to the heart. 

Jake was suddenly wary and excited, "What, Sam?"

"I think today is the day that we leave the ring. What say you?" Jake knew that she knew that that was what was going to happen when they went riding later, but at least she valued his opinion to hear it and convince him that she was right if he disagreed. He'd never admit that he often disagreed with her just to bicker about it.

_You take a stone and make it shine and somehow you bring out the best in me._

_I count on you to lift me up and sometimes take me down a peg_

_With a word or just a touch, somehow you bring out the best in me._

_I'm gonna run until I go to distance cause you believe I will_

_And if I stumble baby what's the difference?_

_You're standin' by me, still._

_The Best in Me,_  Suzy Bogguss & Chet Akins

Really, though, it was Penny that helped Sam to remind her body that she knew how to ride again. Penny's arrival made some connections clear to her in ways that Jake only put together weeks later. Penny could not rely on her eyes, much in the same way Sam could not rely on her own senses sometimes. Penny had developed other tools, and it gave Sam hope that she would one day do the same, hope that Jake could literally see with every passing day when she got in the saddle. She developed a kinship with Penny that defied rational thought. She loved that horse with every fiber of her being.

One bright morning, Jake "stopped by" River Bend before going with Dr. Haskins, meaning that he had overslept and passed his late morning fumbling out of Sam's warm bed off as an early visit.

He followed Sam out to the barn. She had stuffed her pajama pants into her boots, and wandered out to do her chores in some get up that consisted of sleep pants, a too-big t-shirt that rode up when she lifted her arms, and an old sweatshirt of his that covered all the things her shirt did not. Her hair was messy, and she had never been more beautiful.

Jake had been entertaining ideas about that chair in her office when Her sleepy expression had blinked away when she heard J.J. speak.

Jake put a hand on her arm, knowing that this was not good.  J.J. was speaking too loudly, "Some real good people took you in, Penny. You might have otherwise been horsemeat, you pretty girl." J.J. was kind to Penny, but it was clear that he saw her as something to be pitied. He treated her with difference, putting her on a pedestal that was little more than a cage.

Sam tucked her hair behind her ears, leaving straw from her wheels stuck there. Sam dropped the light bucket she was carrying with force. "She's not a pitiful creature, J.J." Sam's words were soft, but they were purposeful. "She's a horse, same as any other." 

J.J. moved around Penny, and Jake could see that Sam was annoyed that J.J. had begun her chores. He thought he was being kind, and Sam had a hard time telling him otherwise. She was trying to see the good in J.J., the things that made him kind to the horses and a hard worker who did his best at his job, who talked about ranching like it was the best thing in the world.

People were not all good or bad, and she was trying to focus on those things, even while she continually called out things he sometimes said, with mercy but without any slack.

Jake didn't have the strength to do that. He hated J.J. There was nothing, nothing, that could redeem his attitudes about life, about the world, nor the things those attitudes had led him to say or do. For Sam, she could draw a line between thought and word and deed. For Jake, they were one in the same. 

"She's a good pasture puff." J.J. thought he was agreeing with Sam.

Jake felt Sam bristle. Penny was a horse in her prime, a good solid work horse, not a pasture puff or as pasture ornament, who was retired and living out the rest of her heathy years with minimal work as payment for services rendered and out of respect. Kitty was a closer description of that than Penny. Brynna used Penny in her work quite regularly, and she was here because of barn repairs in her home barn.

Jake worried about the day Penny left. He knew that it would hurt Sam. 

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Sam snapped. "Just because she doesn't do things like you think a horse should, it doesn't make her a charity case." Jake's eyebrows rose, as he realized that Sam thought Penny was like her, that they were united in their experiences. Sam connected with Penny. "And it doesn't make her less of a horse."

Jake heard the words Sam did not say. He understood, in that moment, what Penny had helped her to see in her own life. He heard the conviction behind her words, and he knew. He knew that the things Penny had helped Sam to understand were valuable lessons she had needed to internalize in her own way. 

Jake picked up the bucket to keep from hurting J.J. He knew that J.J. was not worth the time. He would never learn, never grow, never see. He was a human wall. He might as well have been a fence post for all the learning and growing he did, or tried to do. "Now, don't take offense."

"Don't tell me what to do, J.J." Sam returned, and Jake knew this situation was going to get out of hand if something didn't change fast. Sam's voice got professional, distant, even when Jake knew it was anything but uncaring. "Just answer this. If you were choosing between Penny and Blue, who would you pick?"

Jake knew that this was a trick question designed as a test, and a lesson. If J.J. asked what the reasons were for choosing, he might learn something about horsemanship. Penny was a really trusting horse. Jake had only observed her a few times, but he could read her strengths and her flaws well enough. Blue was a horse anyone would be proud of, but he was a different horse, and no two horses were the same. They were both great animals, but each had things they could bring to the table.

However, if he picked one horse over the other without asking why, he would have to be confronted with his ablism or his pity. His answer was not a surprise to Jake. He didn't even think for a second, "Blue."

Jake knew right then that he would never truly think beyond what he thought he knew, that he would never think beyond the boundaries and limitations he'd created in his mind, and that it would be his downfall. Penny's blindness changed nothing about her worth or her ability, it simply changed some of the way she saw the world, and got things done.

Sam did not bother to tell J.J. where he had gone wrong, or where he'd missed so many chances to learn something about what it meant to see horses for the awesome creatures they were, as unique individuals with strengths and weaknesses, with gifts to share and give.

Sam ended the conversation, "If you were the last one in the feed room, J.J., please remember to cover the feed." J.J. looked relieved because of the rapid change of topic. Jake gathered that J.J. often felt out of his depths around Sam. Quinn thought that J.J. was scared of Sam, intimidated by her, and Jake liked that just fine.

Sam continued on with her chores, and Jake had never been more amazed by her, and that was saying something. Later, he heard J.J. whining to Pepper, and Pepper shut him down flat.

Jake didn't even care. He had learned so much, not about horses, but about how much of a blessing Penny was in his life because of what she had done for Sam. Jake's mind floated back to the present, and he rubbed Penny between the ears. Blessings did often come from the strangest sources, and sometimes, the most unexpected changes turned out to be right.

_I know he's yours and he'll never belong to me again_

_So I'll keep my head down, if you keep it quiet from now on_

_So don't brag, keep it to yourself_

_I was never enough but I can try_

_I can try to toughen up_

_I listened when they told me, if he burns you, let him go_

_Change is hard, I should know_

_Change is Hard,_  She & Him

Jen parked in the apartment complex some ways away from home. Sam had never been here before. She was certain that she was standing near to the gates of hell. She breathed in. The imagery of storming the gates of hell and surviving seemed somehow very apt. 

The place was small, but well taken care of. She found the slip of paper in her wallet that she had sneakily copied down the address upon, and looked at the door. At least it was accessible, and Brynna's car was out front.

She had no reason to turn back now. Sam regretted that, even as she was glad she would never have to come back here. Sam's heart was pounding. She didn't know where to put her tongue in her mouth. It seemed swollen, heavy against her teeth. 

Jen shut off the radio, "I'm guessing you want to do this alone."

Sam handed Jen the novel that had been on the seat, and looked over at her best friend, love and gratitude welling within her heart. The cold air outside was nothing compared to the warmth in this tiny car. "I'll be five minutes."

Jen unlocked the doors, "Send up a flare if you get lost. If you're not back by the time Victor confesses his special love to Mary, I'll come get you." Sam smiled, and got out of the car. The wind whipped by her, and she felt the coolness like a espresso shot of clarity and resolve.

She made her way carefully to the door. The few steps resounded in her mind. One. _I can do this. I have to do this. I can't live like this anymore._

Two.  _It's unsaid. But we all know. I need them to know I know._

Three. Sam licked her bare lips, and, knowing that Jen had her back, knocked on the door. The door opened a second later, with the latch coming undone. City Girl, it seemed, locked her door in the middle of podunk.

Brynna floundered, "Sam? What are you doing here?"

There was nothing negative in her tone, but the surprise set Sam's hackles to raising. "Well, I figure you're around often enough, I should return the favor." There was a sharpness to her tone that she had promised herself she would not use. She couldn't help it though. 

"I think your father would want to know that you're here." Brynna said. She was wearing yoga pants and a thermal top. Sam heard the TV going in the background.

"Look." Sam put her cards on the table, "You and I both know that we need to talk."

Brynna faltered, but the door opened.

Sam went into the apartment, and found that it was very romantically decorated. There was wrought iron lamps on the tables, and a big overstuffed couch taking up much of the front room. Sam did not sit down as Brynna paused the television. She even had a TiVo. They didn't even have cable on the ranch, and hooked up Netflix. She was watching  _Project Runway_  reruns. The fact struck Sam deeply.

Sam sat down at the table in the back of the open room when Brynna gestured to her mug and paperwork. "This won't take long. I've come to offer a truce." Sam began, trying to be as light as she could in a very heavy moment.

Brynna set down her mug, "A truce?"

"Yes." Sam affirmed simply. She said what she came to say. "I can't say I'm comfortable with the situation, but my problems with my father actually have nothing to do with you."

Brynna obviously, despite her father's assertions that she was smart to anyone who would listen, was a little slow on the uptake. "Why are you here, then?"

"Does the word 'truce' mean nothing to you?" Sam tried again to say what she meant without snapping, because she'd promised herself she'd act like an adult. "I'll stay out of your relationship with my father. All I ask is that you stop trying to smooth things out between us."

Sam referenced Brynna's increasingly visible efforts to get them to talk when she was around. It was glaringly obvious that they weren't really speaking and Brynna was always sticking her pert little nose into things that had nothing to do with her, bringing up topics and asking direct questions to break a silence that was not hers to end. "Our problems have nothing to do with you, and I would very much appreciate it if you would stay out of it. In return, you get a Sam-free relationship."

That last incentive sealed the deal for Brynna. It hurt Sam to see something flash in her eyes, but Sam wasn't about to let whatever chips she had in this game be wasted on emotions. She was going to stay out of their relationship after this one bit of meddling to do what was right. She did not owe Brynna this, nor her father, but she owed it to herself. "Your father is concerned that you plan to leave."

See, Sam thought, this is the problem. He had never said that he was concerned that she planned to leave. Leave River Bend? Not while there was breath in her body. They needed her, if only to sort the mail and return emails and fuss over the details. Sam did not explain this to Brynna. She was not to be trusted. Besides, one truth was as good as any other. "I'm not leaving my Grandmother."

Brynna sipped at her coffee. She seemed to consider Sam's words."So, then, how would we have a Sam-free relationship?"

What did the woman want?

Dad had already farmed out her guardianship while she was with Sue. He'd made some fuss two weeks ago about having it back, as though that mattered now, as though that piece of paper was supposed to make her feel safe.

"You're doing alright now." Sam replied. There was a limit to what she could give this woman. She could not fall off of the face of the earth, nor would she give up her home. It would have to be taken. Again.

"You have no idea, do you?" Brynna shook her head when Sam went to contradict her. "You know, when I met your father, I met a man that wasn't only missing his daughter, but his right hand."

Sam tried to keep the conversation on point. "Jake has nothing to do with this." Sam begged herself not to let her hackles raise, simply because Brynna was poking at a weak spot in her carefully constructed shell.

Everyone knew that she would jump to Jake's defense without thought. It was something Quinn used to tease her for. She would take his side against anyone's outside the family, and even against some of her brothers, in the right circumstances. This woman clearly did not know that, no matter what she thought she knew about their relationship. 

Her redirection made Brynna smile. "I meant you."

"Jake does more with the ranch than I ever really have." Sam corrected. Brynna thought she knew everything. She didn't.

Sam wasn't only here for herself. She was doing this for Jake and Gram and Dallas and Luke and Max and all of her siblings and everyone else, too.

"Maybe when you were younger." Brynna allowed, "But that can hardly be true now, because he quit, right?" Her fingers wrapped around her cup.

"It's not that simple." Sam admonished. Jake had quit, yes, but you would hardly know it. He didn't take directives from Dad anymore, but he was more than willing to help her, more than willing to pitch in when Dallas gave her a chore that he knew they would do together. 

"We're getting off subject." Brynna moved along, and Sam was glad, if only so that she secure the woman's word and get on with her life. "What is it that you see happening?"

"I don't like you, but I intend to tolerate you." Sam was honest, and laid out her assessment as plainly as she could. Dressing things up in kind words would do nobody any good. "You mean well, most of the time, and most of the time, you're not a complete idiot. You've got a nice horse. She seems to like you. Penny tells me pretty much everything I need to know."

"I never did thank you personally for allowing Penny in as a boarder." Brynna said, "I didn't realize that you had been the one caring for her."

Like she was going to let J.J. tend to Penny. Pepper was busy, and Sam didn't mind doing what she could in the barn. Penny could not help who owned her, and thus far, she hadn't had any cause to deal with Dad's girlfriend about Penny. She wanted to keep it that way. "I don't do it for you. You have nothing to do with anything, shocking as though that may be to you. River Bend has honor and values, you know. We don't take personal issues out on a horse."

"And your father says you don't love him." Brynna said. "I wonder if he knows who you mean when you talk about loyalty to River Bend."

"I mean what I say." Sam replied in a measured tone. Her father's assertion that she did not love him hurt, though she had hardly expected to hear anything else. She had prepared herself to hear much worse. "Though I would prefer it if my father did not hear about this visit." She knew he would never understand, and would take the trip out here to mean more than it really did.

Sam shifted. Her message was done. There was nothing left to say. "I understand." Brynna stood, "I'll think about what you've said, Sam, and we will talk again." She peeked around the door, "Though now I should probably see who gets eliminated."

Sam tugged at her sweater, and didn't reply as she walked out the door. No one got eliminated on that episode. What happened in reality remained to be seen. Sam knew, however, that she had to put her pennies on the track and run like hell out of the way of the train that was going to crush her flat if she didn't stop playing chicken.

_Well, it's good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright._

_Anyway my eyes are not accustomed to this light._

_And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete._

_So I must go back to my room and make my day complete._

_Counting Flowers on the Wall_ , The Statler Brothers

 

Two weeks later, Sam packed up her bag and headed over to Three Ponies to get some work done.

She just needed a change of pace because Gram was in a really chatty mood today, and she had a lot of work to do. Gram gave her a ride, because she was glad, Sam thought, to see her out of the house sometimes. It was Friday, and it had been a long, long, week with school because everyone was home and she still had work to do. Working at home did not discount the impact of exams and discussion boards on her energy level.

Sam let herself into the kitchen at Three Ponies, and began to work. She enjoyed her schoolwork, enjoyed mostly the feeling of getting things done, crossing things off of her list. She liked figuring out what her texts said, what she thought about those things, and what she thought really meant. She was happy working this way. It, at the very least, left more time for the horses.

She still struggled with math, with reading comprehension. She had figured out ways to cope, though. She bought audio books when she could, and tried to keep things clear in her mind. She still had to look up words, but now she had a notebook that she copied each word she learned into. Its blue paper reduced headaches. There were small things she found she did now without thought, things that allowed her to cope. 

The house, Sam knew, had been changed in small but significant ways. The plates and bowls for day use, had been organized. Sam had realized one day that she could not pick a plate to eat off of, were they a hundred different colors of fiestaware. She tried to give herself two or three choices, tops and be very methodological about any choice before her. She now used the same pencils and pens for everything. She carried her iPod everywhere, to ground her when the house and stores were too loud. 

Now that everyone was home, the adjustments she found herself having to make were large. No one, beyond those who had been here, really understood what it was like to live with her. Bryan, for example, had left water on the bathroom floor one night. Sam had fallen. She hadn't told anyone, but she had learned to be extremely careful.

It was just little things.

Sam found herself thinking more and more that she was different. 

She needed things to be a different way. The things that defined her ability to cope and function in the world didn't matter to other people. She realized that Jake and Max and Luke and even Gram and Dad had been slowly observing her changes and leaving things her way. Sam hadn't known that before. She knew it now. She knew now that the fact that food tasted better anymore had nothing to do with her tastebuds and brain being normal and more to do with the fact that Max and Gram had, without a word one way or the other, changed much of their approach to spices. 

Things that were spicy to her were bland to other people. Nate had asked a question until a look of knowing had crested on his face and he'd shut up. Then Sam had been annoyed at the duplicity, forced to bring things out in the open. No one had to change things or hide things to make her life easier or better. The hiding was worse. Sam had known that people were only trying to help, but she'd made dinner the next night and taken care to dump a boatload of spices into the pot, until she thought her mouth was going to explode just from tasting a little bit of the food. 

When dinner came and she pulled out a smaller pot she'd set aside before spicing up the food, people got the message. 

Her laptop needed to be plugged in after a few hours, and Sam used the task of getting her cord as a reason to go to the bathroom, brush her teeth again, and find a sweater. After another hour of work, Sam got up, and made herself some leftovers. Well, she pulled off the post-it that she'd put on the leftovers that read "lunch…" and heated it up, turning off the microwave before it beeped. She was getting really good at hitting stop at just the right second. 

She wandered into the living room, enjoying being home alone, and ate her lunch while watching HGTV. She didn't always have time for TV, but she didn't watch much TV, and a show about a woman who restored old homes rather than giving them some bland upgrade was her guilty pleasure. Sam had trouble sometimes, following movies, but she liked the storyline of the flips. 

Sam put her bowl in the sink, rinsed it, and went back to work. A little after two thirty, Sam heard boots on the stair. It wasn't Luke, because he had taken lunch out with him today. Sam heard somebody humming, and she knew right then that it was Adam.

He came into the room, a calm energy that put Sam at ease. "Hey, Sammy."

Sam paused the timer on her assignment. They were often timed, "Hey, Adam." He was home for the fair, the last to arrive. Nate, Adam, Quinn, and Jake were all home. Seth hadn't yet shown up, and Kit was worlds away. Sam didn't think Seth was coming this year, though she did not say so to Max, who was stressed, but on cloud nine, with people to feed and and a full house to rule over.

Adam went for the cookie jar, like any sensible person might after being away from home. He took in her attire in the middle of the afternoon, "Excited for the fair?"

Sam knew he was thinking about all those 4-H events, the months and months of labor and work and meetings that had defined their life. She had done 4-H last year. And every year since she was five, actually. Gram was annoyed that she'd stopped going, but there was no way she could brace even so much as a goat, now, and she wasn't willing to put herself on display in showmanship. 

Gram said she was missing out. Sam agreed. But it…it wasn't worth it. It was better to let memories be what they were. 

"Oh..." Sam hedged. "I'm not going."She flicked her eyes towards her books, hoping that he would simply think that she had too much to do. The truth was, she didn't much want to see all of the people she had used to know very well, and she did not see the point of expending all of the effort to go. 

Out in the wider world, she felt very limited and shut out in ways that she no longer did in her family. She saw no reason to go to the fair and see inaccessibility and inequality everywhere. There was enough of it that she could not avoid in her daily life. She was just fine here.

He seemed to hear the things she was not saying. "That's a real shame." Maybe not, though, Sam thought, because he simply asked, "Can I help you get anything done?"

"No, it's okay." Sam replied, picking up a pencil. "I'll go some other time. Don't worry about it." Sam watched as he grabbed another cookie.

"The offer stands, Sammy." Adam was a good brother. Being one of the older ones, and he could always be counted upon to have her back and take her side when she and Jake and Quinn had squabbled. He was always a solid friend, especially now, when the age difference difference didn't feel so gaping and wide. "Want me to bring you anything back?"

"A small bag of those mints I like would be nice, and maybe some of those red gummy candies." Sam tried to think of things that would be easily transported for the trip. Anything anybody else liked would come back, at best, half-eaten delivered with sheepish smiles and the passing of the blame.

Adam nodded, and proceeded to spend some time with her, asking about the family and everything that was going on. He went to catch up with everyone else, and Sam heard him head out, wishing that she could go along, too. It was nice to have him home again.

_Gwen the Goose: A fair is a veritable smorgasbord orgasbord orgasbord_  
After the crowds have ceased  
Each night when the lights go out  
It can be found on the ground all around  
Oh, what a ratly feast!

_Why, a fair has enough disgusting leftover food to satisfy a whole army of rats!_

_Templeton: I like high living... what you say tempts me!_

_Gwen the Goose: It's true. Go to the fair, Templeton. You will find that it will surpass your wildest dreams_

_A Veritable Smorgasbord,_  Charlotte's Web

It wasn't a very well kept secret, but Jake liked the fair. He hated crowds, and he hated bustle, but he loved the fair. It was a holdover of emotion from childhood. Every year, he'd spent all summer looking towards the fair, and all spring preparing for the next one. It was the plight of ranch and farm kids everywhere. There was just something about it, and this year was going to be fun, too.

"What cars are we taking?" Dad asked. With seven people going, they could either take the big van, piling in there like sardines, or they could spread out a bit and take a few cars. This discussion was part of the fair process. Jake knew that separate cars were the best choice for them.

Quinn offered a solution, "There's room for at least four in the Scout. If I drive, that leaves Sam, Jake, and somebody else. Then you and Mom could just take the car."

Jake was not adverse to that plan. "You're not driving my truck." Witch agreed, looking at her own brother with a superior expression as they walked along. Jake kept her in line easily. She liked to spat with her brother, and Jake wasn't going to have it today.

"It was mine first." Quinn asserted, which only served to annoy Jake. 

Jake did not want to admit that he didn't trust Quinn to drive with Sam in the car. He knew that he should confront the issue, explain it, and work through it, but he didn't want to do it. He did not want his PTSD to ruin the image he had of the fair and he did not want to admit that there were areas where he still struggled.

Dad shot them a look. He couldn't see it, as Dad was beside him, but he felt it.

From slightly in front of them, Adam interjected, "Sam's not going." Eyes left the dot on the horizon between their horse's ears, and looked in his direction, "She said that she had stuff to do."

Yeah, Jake's mind scoffed, she had stuff to do. It wasn't her work, because she always planned to have Friday less full. Unless he missed his guess, she would have spent an hour over lunch rather than the 15 minutes she generally gave herself and watched TV. She would have puttered and fussed over planning out next week's work.

She wasn't ill, that he knew. She had not said she wasn't going, so what happened between the last time he'd seen her and when Adam had gotten home?

Jake didn't like unanswered questions or unexplainable changes in behavior, and by the time he got home later, he was stewing. His reaction didn't exactly make sense, except that it did. How was he supposed to go to the fair without anybody to eat the other half of the food he bought, and pester him to pester their parents to buy sheep that they did not need because the little 4-Her had done such a good job, and wasn't it cute, and please Jake, look at its eyes?

She was messing up tradition, and he did not like that.

Jake saw to the last few chores on his docket, dusted off his hands, and walked with purpose towards the porch. Sam's chair was there, and he made short work of taking it to the Scout and putting it in the back. They were putting a ramp on the porch this week. Sam had asked for it, and it was simple enough to rip off a bit of the bannister along the side of the porch and build up a ramp. Now that everyone was home, it wouldn't take much work. 

He pulled off the seat cushion, and put it in the front seat. The wheelchair had small hooks that allowed him to connect the chair to spots bolted into the floor of the truck bed. It had taken one Saturday afternoon, and a little bit of fiddling on the internet to figure out the best way to install the system that allowed them to bolt the chair to the floor of the truck via straps, hooks, and heavy duty tracks. It wasn't that hard. Bungee cords worked, but they weren't exactly the safest thing for the frame of the chair. Hooks and straps did more to distribute the weight of the chair and hold it steady without any undue stress on the frame.

The first step was simple, and required that he lock the wheels of the chair. Jake flipped the locks and shook the chair gently as he reached for the first hook, and secured it to the front of the chair, near the frog leg on the left. The metal clicked into place. He was careful to remove the slack from the straps and make sure the front was secure before he pressed down the back of the chair, securely, but not tightly. The system was in place and easy to use. It took all of two minutes to have the chair in place, two minutes that he needed to figure out why she didn't want to go. He could have done it faster, but he had to figure out what was going on.

The rebel looked quite passive when he went into the living room, finally determined not to stew and to discuss the matter like Ella had taught them to do. There was no reason to skip the fair. The sky was not falling.

Sam was sitting with her feet up on the couch, reading some Faulkner novel, an index card in her other hand to keep her on the line. "We're going to the fair." He regretted not phrasing his words as a question, but he wasn't a wordy guy. She knew that his thoughts never made it into words, most times.

Sam looked his way over her novel, and slid the index card down one line with purpose. How could she still be reading, having heard everyone getting ready? Jake remembered that she was now an expert at tuning people out, thanks to the effects of the accident.

"Have fun. Where's the house phone?" Sam did not like to be left alone without knowing where the phone was. Sometimes, it took her a few rings to get up, and rushing could cause her to fall, not to mention of there was some kind of emergency...

"No." Jake frowned, "We're going to the fair in ten minutes. Are you ready?" She was, he guessed. She was dressed. There was a soft cotton thing in her hair, and the bottom two buttons on her sweater were misbuttoned. There, that was a question. He was proud of himself for asking a question he knew the answer to so as to 'facilitate dialogue' like Ayers had once advised.

Sam pushed her headphones off of her ears, "Thanks for the invite, but I'm busy." She pulled the headphones up on her ears, again, and tried to send a nonverbal message by turning up the music and reached for her index card.

"So you're not going?" Jake clarified, "You're going to sit here, and read  _As I Lay Dying_ and eat leftovers and be alone?" Normally, that would be the definition of a nice evening, but not when the fair was in question.

"Oh, no. I ate most of the leftovers for lunch. I'm going to have a sandwich..." Sam trailed off, noticing the expression he couldn't keep from his face. "What's with you?"

He was just feeling a little bit baffled. He wasn't the one ruining one of the most deep-seated traditions they had. Going to the fair was important. She loved the fair, and never once before had he literally had to beg her to get in the car. Well, he'd never begged her once, and he wouldn't start now. "You have eight minutes now, Sam. Do you need anything before we go?"

"No, I'm fine." She said tensely. It was the kind of tone she usually reserved for telling him off with, or telling him just how angry she was with him. There was an inherent 'fuck you' buried in those three words. "See you later. Tell Gram I said 'hi' when you see her." Everybody went to the fair on Friday, and chores and everything were settled for a rare night off and some family fun.

"Tell her yourself. We're meeting for dinner." Jake crossed his arms, knowing that Sam wasn't going to much like being told flat out that she was going, but she was going.  She was going. There was no earthly reason for her not to go. Sandwiches were better at the fair, if she really wanted one, and not a good pork chop or something.

Sam glared. "I'm not going." She was a little bit louder than he though she had cause to be. "Why should I go?"

"You're not sick, your work is done, your chores are done, every person you know is going to be there, there's no reason not to go. You're going." Jake replied, and checked his watch, "Seven minutes, Sam. You really should get moving. I already put the chair in the truck."

Sam put her book on the floor and turned to sit up. Jake helped her to pull up because she had become almost lost in the deep padding of the couch.

Jake thought that she had seen reason, and would go do what she needed to do before they left. That was, until she spoke."Why is this so important to you?"

Jake figured he could pause the clock for this. She was going to go. He was satisfied that she had decided. If he could impress upon her that this was important to him, then she would set aside her misgivings and come along. Later, when they were stuffed full of food, they could talk through whatever she was feeling. "It's tradition."

"Not anymore." Sam returned simply, "It's best that we just leave things they way they're supposed to be in our minds, and let it go."

"Sam." Jake finally figured it out.

She liked the fair so much that she wasn't willing to go there. She didn't want things to be different.

It made sense to him. It wasn't the whole story, that was for sure, but her unwillingness to go only made it clearer that she had to go, if indeed it meant as much to her as she said it did. "This year might be the best yet."

Sam looked over at him, a soft smile gracing her face. "What was your next tactic? Flattery, emotional manipulation?"

Jake answered honestly, and confessed that his end game had only been to get her to the fair. "I would have put you in the truck." He did not see the pillow that hit him in the face coming his way.

"That wouldn't have worked." Sam headed towards the downstairs bathroom.

Jake breathed a sigh of relief that he hoped she didn't hear. 

"Three minutes!" He called out, instead of admitting that she was right. Kidnapping wasn't his strong suit, not that he had ever tried it. The truth was, he would have just ratted her out to Mom.

 

_Well there's a full moon in the western sky, and there's magic in the air._

_Ain't nothin' I know of, can make you fall in love like a night at the county fair._

_Well, we walked through the midway, the lights and the laughter,_

_She puts her little hand in mine._

_County Fair,_  Chris LeDoux

Quinn clambered out of the Scout. Jake got out the wheelchair, and Sam slid down to the ground from the passenger seat. Jake, of course, had driven. Quinn and Adam had shared the back seat. The drive hadn't taken very long, and Sam had listened to the conversation without participating much.

Her 1500 songs on her iPod had kept her company, though she had kept the volume low enough to be aware of what was going on around her. 

Sam got in the chair, towards the back of the truck, and looked at the small casters, wondering if they would make it over the dirt and the gravel in the fairground. There was nothing for it now. Apprehension and worry built inside her.

She gripped the seatbelt in her lap and pulled it tightly against her body, and then pulled her shirt out from under the belt, and let it fall over her front, so as to hide the belt. It was a bit of vanity, but the belt cut across the tops of her thighs, just below her waist, and nobody needed attention there. Her legs, no matter how thin she had been and still was, were her problem area. 

Evening was falling as they fell in step next to Max and Luke, who met them from where they and Nate had found a space.

"Well..." Max said, when the approached the gate, before they mixed in the line, "Stay with your buddy." Sam did not twist around to see Luke softly doing a head check. He was two short, and Sam figured he was telling himself that his oldest child was nearly 31. Some things died a heard, slow, death.

She wondered if he would still do head checks when he was ninety.

"Mom..." Quinn asked, and Sam smiled, "Would you be my buddy?" Jake's hand gently squeezed her shoulder from where he stood behind her. It was kind of sweet to make sure that Max got to all the places she wanted to go to without having to worry about keening track of Luke, who did tend to hang out in front of the machinery building.

For a long time, Seth had been her buddy. A younger child was paired up with an older child so as to make sure nobody got lost in crowds. Other families had more responsibilities for their systems, but their's had always been pretty simple. Making sure no one got lost was key, though she had heard stories about Jake getting lost when he was younger. Max apologized for it occasionally, as though people remembered. 

The buddy system had died out years ago, in actuality, though the formality of it all had hung on. Her buddy had ditched her, this year. Sam realized that Kitt had been Jake's buddy, years ago. Lucky that, she thought. 

"Hm." Max pretended to be critically thinking over her choices. "If you don't eat all the fudge this year, sure." Quinn huffed, and his brothers poked fun at him.

They got to to the ticket booth easily enough, and it gave Sam paused when she realized that she got in free, because of the chair. Jake got in free because he was pushing her. Nate saw her discomfort, in that she felt that she was not paying her way, and tried to ease it. "You've paid a thousand times before." They were walking along the concrete along the front of the fairgrounds, near where the path split to lead to the barns or the grandstand and food. "Don't sweat it."

Sam tried not to care, but she felt like she was taking advantage of the system. It was a fleeting feeling though, because they were able to get lost in the crowds of diverse people. Sam found that she loved mixing in with people who were clearly out of towners, and locals, and ranch-people, and rodeo people, and others from all walks of life.

Here, she wasn't Sam, she was just some girl, anybody she could possibly choose to be.

And yet, she knew that she belonged here. The same food stands were in the same places, and some of the workers were clearly visible. Everything was just the same, and it didn't hurt. This time would have passed anyhow, and she was different now, but she hadn't missed out. It was strange. 

She looked around a few seconds later and realized that the buzzing in her ears was the crowd. She put her earbuds in, but did not turn on the music. The sensation of having them in her ears helped her to move along. 

Sam saw a sign and asked, "If I paid you $30, would you eat a fried Oreo?" 

The look of revulsion on Jake's face was classic. Sam fell silent as they watched the crowds and tried to get through them to the church booth, for they were running late. As she had in years past, she made up backstories for the people she saw, based on what she could see about them. It occupied her mind, even as she had to work hard not to bump into people who stepped in front of her before she could slow the chair down.

The third time it happened, she whispered, "It's okay. They just didn't see me."

Jake frowned intensely at the person's back. As they walked, Sam's heart filled with the sound of a drum circle and people visiting. The profane, common environment suddenly felt very spiritual. There was good and bad, beauty and pain, everywhere, mixing as one.

Jake took over pushing then, and Sam saw the church stand in the distance. She realized that her hands were dark with the soil and rocks from the wheels. She often didn't use the pushbars, and it showed.

By the time they got inside, everyone else was sitting down at a big table. They had started out here at the same second exactly, and it mystified her that she moved that much more slowly, even now, after all of the months that she had spent just trying to learn to move again.

The big plates of food in the empty spots were calling. "We didn't keep you waiting?" Sam asked, knowing that, somehow, they had.

The room was loud, and her senses spun as denials reached her ears over her earbuds, which she carefully did not remove. Sam reached around the chair for her bag and pulled out a wet wipe to clean her hands before she touched her food. A soil garnish did not sound appetizing. Sam realized that Brynna was looking at her. Sam very carefully, held out the bag, and asked, "Would you like one?"

Brynna did take one. It seemed her point had been made. Jake had not understood going to see Brynna, but he was proud of her for doing it. Somehow the message got out that they were trying to bury the hatchet.

Sam did not look at her father. It wasn't about anyone, wasn't about Brynna, wasn't personal. She could spare a wet wipe for someone Penny thought so highly of. This had nothing to do with him. Sam trusted Penny, even if she did not agree with her assessment.

There were so many people, that Sam was bumped into at least twice, jolted. Her chair wasn't blocking the aisle, but she had parked on the end of the picnic table to avoid getting out. People didn't mean to bump into her, and they had always sat here. Sam ate quickly to avoid nearly getting bashed in the head. Quinn looked at her again, as she tried to scoot in more to avoid another passerby. "There's room on the bench."

Sam declined the same offer for the third time. Sam knew that she should have gotten out of the chair, and parked it, and sat on the bench, but it hadn't made much sense at the time.There was room for the chair, but not her in the chair, evidently.

Gram tried to stuff her with the extras, but Sam declined any extra food. It didn't taste the same way as it always had. Even her tea was too sour. She pushed the cup towards Jake, and he downed it. Sam was grateful to not have to explain to Gram that her favorite treat foods no longer tasted quite as enjoyably as they once had.

As was customary, Gram went around the table and asked everyone where they wanted to go at the fair, so that a basic framework of where people would be could be constructed.

Sam listened as best she could over the loud noise of the church dinner stand. The baked potatoes and huge helpings of meat, gravy, and other fixings was a popular attraction. Sam didn't eat much. The tea was sour, and she still could barely tolerate the texture of meat. The scent of the pepper was overpowering, and she could barely force herself to swallow, no matter what she tried to tell her body. Thankfully, they ate for free as members of the church, though everyone dropped something in the donation box. Sam threw in extra because of all of her wasted food. Brain injury or no, she hated that she could no longer even tolerate foods she'd dreamed about.

Gram and Max and Quinn were going to stick together. Sam figured she and Jake would just wander around as the light faded. There was nothing she really was dying to do or see, though she had always enjoyed the sounds and the sights of the old barns lit up with old fashioned electric lighting, yellow bulbs shining merrily over the animals, all scrubbed up and looking their best. Sam wiggled her toes in her boots.

As they disbanded for parts unknown, Dad made it a point to tell her that they would catch up later. Sam nodded. They were trying now, simply by not talking about the things that would hurt the other person. It was working for now. When Brynna said goodbye, Sam replied.

Sam thought that Gram's jaw hit the floor.

She would have spoken to Brynna before, if only to see the look on Gram's face. 

 

_And you're a picture of strength, and grace and beauty_

_And me I'm just a fool in a super market aisle_

_Well I, well know hello would surely end up awkward_

_I never had the knack for talkin any way_

_You're not the kind for bending over backwards_

_Smile and turn my shopping cart around and walk away_

_Ain't it strange_

_Well, ain't it strange_

_7 &7_, Turnpike Troubadours

"I want ice cream." Quinn declared, "Jakey, buy me some ice cream." Quinn was walking along side of Sam, on the other side.

She was pushing herself over the rocks and the dirt. Jake rolled his eyes. Even though he'd found them soon after dinner, Quinn had easily avoided Sarah, and Sam knew things were not as over between them as she had assumed when she saw the faraway look on Sarah's face when she spotted Quinn out of the corner of her eye.

Jake had merely looked at her, and Sam knew that Quinn was still in love with Sarah. What he didn't know was that she was sure Sarah loved him back. There were still things they had to say, but she knew, too, that Quinn wasn't ready.

For once in her life, she was going to keep her trap shut. She'd learned somehow that things, conclusions and realizations, could not be rushed. 

"No." Sam replied, "You'll get sick if you eat too much dairy too quickly, and anyway, we just ate." She was not going to have one bit of sympathy for him as he hadn't taken his dairy pill today.

He'd groused about forgetting in the car. Amateur, Sam thought. She carried backups in the bug-out bag, but she wasn't going to tell him that just yet. Jake had put the bag on the back of her chair after fishing out her wallet so she could buy raisins to take home and feed the ducks. She'd also gotten a wooden spoon for her collection. 

And despite what Quinn said, she did not have a hopeless chest. Or a hope chest. It was a cedar chest, first of all, and second of all, it had nothing to do with anything. She simply liked to collect china, and she planned to use it when she got an apartment, not married. Sam glared at him when Jake came back from the raisin line, and Quinn shut up. She knew he was only teasing her to make her blush. 

"God, would you stop channelling Mom? It's creepy." Quinn moved along good naturedly. He patted the nose of a dairy cow. Sam took a quick peek at her, and saw that she was somebody's show cow, a lovely red and white simmental. She was called Alice. Sam got the idea that she was pampered, and not at all phased by the people fawning over her, as though it was her due. Sam knew she would place well tomorrow.

Sam decided to have some fun at Quinn's expense. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Sam spoke primly, moving easily over the paved aisle. This portion of the barn wasn't crowded, so she didn't feel trapped or overwhelmed. "I want to go see the deer."

"Ice cream, first." Quinn bargained. Sam shared a glance with Jake. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder. Sam didn't mind that his hand often found a space there. It made her feel more secure in the seat, and it wasn't like they were the sort to hold hands anyhow. Jake was right.

Sam shook her head. "Why do you like to look at animals you have already?" Quinn asked. "The horses, the cattle..." He was just talking to talk. It was his way, and it served the purpose of annoying Jake.

Sam smiled, ready to retort smartly, when she saw a flash of mocha hair out of the corner of her eye. She knew instantly that those designer boots did not belong to anyone but Rachel Slocum, home on fall break from her school in the UK.

Sam had forgotten all about the fact that she was visiting her brother. Jen had been spending so much time at River Bend that Sam had stopped caring about the reason why she was with her so much.

She cared now. She cared a whole lot now.

Jen was there, looking at the end of her rope, her arms crossed as they walked through the barn. Rachel was complaining about the smell from the barns clinging to her Barbour. Sam almost hoped Jen would ignore her.

It was Ryan who called out in greeting. "Hey!" He paused, looking over at his girlfriend. "Just who you were looking for, isn't that lucky?"

Jen replied, "Yeah, I was just about to come find you." Jen looked so very sad that she hadn't had the chance to come look for her.

Sam tried not to laugh. She'd ditch them too, given the first chance. "Sorry."

Jen just looked quickly at Rachel, and didn't that one look say it all? Sam quickly enacted a fast retreat, "Jen, you, uhm...mentioned you would...uh... help me..." Sam didn't know what for, though. She knew Jen would pick up her slack.

She did not care that she looked like a babbling fool in front of Rachel, and the realization was freeing. It was as though she had realized something about herself, and utterly did not care. 

"Right!" Jen looked so relieved and overjoyed that Sam knew she had said the right thing. "Let's go do that...thing, then. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

Rachel took no responsibility for what would have been her fault as she said, "Well, I simply had things to do, Jennifer. I can't be bothered when you decide..." Rachel broke off then, something odd crossing her face. Sam didn't like the expression one bit. "I'd like to come, if I may." Rachel changed tracks.

What was this? Quinn's eyebrows rose. Jake was hiding behind her chair, standing back there like he might have if she were wearing wide skirts. 

Sam cursed internally. Jake knew exactly what she was trying to do, but he wasn't much help, darn him and Quinn. They did not understand Girl Code in the slightest. There went stealing Jen away and being the best friend in the history of ever.

There was no way out when Ryan chimed in, "Let's just all go together, then. Jen?"

Jen smiled, and agreed. Sam bit on her lip, as she met Jake's questioning gaze. No, she had no clue what was going on with Rachel Slocum.

_I'm a freak, I can't relate to anyone_

_Look at me! I'm the black sheep on the run_

_I've battled my encounters, fought in all the wars_

_and what I've come to see is that my worst enemy is me_

_But I can't fight myself forever, it's a life of misery_

_And although no one can tell I'm a freak, I'm a freak_

_I've got a smile on my face but it's the sad reality_

_I'm always in my own head, I'm a freak, I'm a freak_

_I'm a Freak_ , Wise Girl

Despite the crowd they had become a part of, Sam was glad she had decided to come to the fair. Quinn did get his ice cream, and so did everyone else.

Sam personally enjoyed the sweetness of the treat in the cooling fall air. It had taken her a good three minutes to make her mind on a flavor. Thankfully, there was an app for that. She had made a list a few weeks of flavors she liked a few weeks ago, and simply went with the one on the top. She felt like eating it, or she would have gone on to the next one. Sam found that asking herself yes or no questions helped unless she was really stressed about making a choice. 

Rachel. Rachel hadn't changed. Sam had, and it was an incredible moment. 

Sam had come to realize that she didn't much care one way or another about Rachel anymore. She wasn't jealous of her good looks, or her easy way of moving, not anymore. Rachel hadn't earned those things, they weren't things to be jealous of. Really, Rachel thought she was a mean girl, but Sam, given their separation, had come to see her for the insecure girl that she was.

Nobody was intimidating after knowing, and coming to love, Matrona. In fact, in coming to see her own darkness, Sam knew that if there was going to be a mean girl contest between them, that Sam would win hands down. Sam knew her own darkness, and there was no telling what that darkness was capable of, in the end. 

She'd learned a thing or two from the Claw, and throwing shade was an olympic sport to that girl. Rachel was still Rachel, and she was still beautiful and everything Sam would never be, but Sam had realized that she didn't need to be any of those things to be happy.

They weren't alike, and they would never get along, but Sam no longer cared about the things that had made her jealous of Rachel in the first place. To even consider the things that she had valued then as important now was laughable.

Somehow, the accident had changed her. She had grown up quickly, and with no room to slow down or make a second guess herself when going about it. She was no longer jealous of Rachel's sociability, her ease, because the little shred of ease in her corner of the world that Sam had earned meant more to her.

She knew where every bit of herself had come from, and Sam realized that she wouldn't give up what parts of herself she had found for anything. The accident had changed her, and Sam wasn't sure she really and truly wanted to go back to the old way, anymore. She wasn't a little girl, and she didn't want to live in a little girl's world, not anymore. 

 

It was a jarring moment. Was she happier this way, or was there no real way to compare their then with their now? All there really was was now, and there was no might have been that she was willing to gamble for. 

"Careful." Jake called her attention to the fact that her ice cream was going to fall over if she didn't straighten her hand.

Sam did, and licked away the drip quickly. "I was thinking." Sam replied, looking over at the rest of the crowd that was passing them by, mothers and children, and couples and families. Jake leaned over from the bale that he was using as a seat, and tried to see what she was seeing.

"Yeah." Jake replied. Sam found that the fact that she couldn't get up to where the seating area was wasn't that a big deal. It annoyed her that she couldn't, of course, because she should be able to get there, as should anyone who wanted to be there.

The few steps up to the seating area in the building behind them were not conducive to accessibility, and Sam was enraged for all of the people that didn't have someone to go to the window, buy her ice cream that she wanted, and sit with her outside in the fading light. Selfishly, she had been glad to escape their crowd and have time with just Jake, time to just be, just let the world swirl around them and feel, together, that their own tiny slice of this messed up planet made sense for one brilliant, breathtaking, simple, moment.

It should have been meaningless, but because they were here, together, finally, it meant so much more.

Still, she planned to use the information to make changes somehow. No one should be denied ice cream. "Funny how we didn't even think of those stairs." No one had thought about it, or if they had, they hadn't mentioned how inaccessible this barn was to her. Sam wasn't offended by their oversight, because it told her that they didn't see the chair, even though she did feel a twinge of guilt and self-loathing when she realized that she would not be able to get inside.

It passed because she had no choice but to make it pass. She was tired of holding on to things and missing moments that mattered over things that did not. It wasn't that she couldn't get up them if she tried. It just wasn't safe to leave the chair, and really, she did not see the point of conforming just to be like other people. She wasn't. And finally, maybe, sort of, she was kind of okay with that. Eric Clapton floated over the breeze, contrasting with someone's fiddle in the distance. It was her favorite Clapton song.

"It's hot in there anyway." Jake agreed, a slow smile crinkling his eyes. He was in on the joke, and that made it all okay. 

Sam didn't have what Rachel had. She had more, and for once, she didn't care if people saw that moreness as difference because they didn't understand it. She didn't care what they thought when they saw Jake, with his good looks and his big heart, next to her.

She didn't care what they assumed about her, because sitting out here like this was all she really wanted. 

"I didn't want to come today, because I knew that there would be challenges." Sam did not mention all of the times someone had cut her off, or the moments her chair had gotten stuck, or all of the times that she had felt a little bit out of step with the world around her.

She did not tell Jake that, while she wasn't jealous of Rachel, that Jen's simple ability to not be stared at or be questioned or talked about, was something she envied from time to time. People looked at Jen, and they saw her for who and what she was, a smart, beautiful, hard-working girl whose jeans and boots told the story of her life as easily as her chunky sweater and her geeky t-shirt did. "I just didn't know that I wouldn't care all that much."

Jake paused, ice cream forgotten. "How come?" Sam watched a small child go by, pushing his own stroller as his mother did her very best to corral a hopped up toddler, a school aged girl, and a husband who seemed to be talking off her ears. The woman looked overjoyed.

Sam saw a young couple walk by. There was a girl, and a guy. The girl looked strong, and moved easily. Sam knew her at once as someone who lived her life around horses. She was hanging off of her boyfriend, looking for all the world to see as the perfect girl.

Sam felt a flare of jealousy, over what she did not know, maybe it was the way her boots touched the dirt when she moved. Maybe it was the unchallenged way in which Sam just knew, just saw the horsiness about her, in a way that people would never again see with her. Then she looked again and saw, really saw, the look on the girl's face. She looked...sad, lost.

Sam felt a pang of empathy with her. Nobody's life was perfect, and Sam figured she would rather her own challenges, because she still ended up with chocolate ice cream and Jake to share it with.

Sam thought about all of the things the challenges in life had taught her, and realized that all of her struggles had led up to this imperfectly perfect, timeless moment. It had, in some crazy, messed up way, been worth it.

Sam licked her ice cream, biting into the cone. She chewed, and said, "Because, if I gave them up, what else about myself would I be trading in or forgetting?"

Sam flicked a glance over at Jake. He knew what she meant. After a second, she added, dragging her teeth across the ice cream, "Besides, it's too hot in there." She grinned, knowing that the barn would have kept their freezing hands warm as they ate their ice cream.

_In my faded leather jacket and my weathered Brogan shoes_

_A chill north wind was blowin' but the spring was comin' on_

_As I wondered to myself just how long I had been gone_

_Stepped into the hall and saw all my friends were there_

_and I wanted you to see them all; I wished that you were there_

_I looked across the room and saw you standin' on the stair_

_And when I caught your eye I saw you break into a grin_

_It feels so good feelin' good again_

_Feelin' Good Again_ , Robert Earl Keen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for this. I release it to the wind, and hope the story-the one your heart finds within these words-means as much to you as writing the words upon the page has meant to me.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost from FFN. It's unchanged for the first few chapters, but as you will note, the rating has changed.


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